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About Bologna

Oh, and the smells—sweat, perfume, whiskey—gross but alive! I’d exagerate and say it’s like a rock concert, but dirtier. Makes me wanna write a song, all distorted chords and screamin’. What pisses me off? How folks judge it—call it sin, but won’t look at the hustle. Happy tho, ‘cause it’s real—raw as hell. YOU GET A CAR for livin’ your truth!

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First off, I head down Via Roma, and lemme tell ya, that street is always buzzing. People everywhere, like ants on a sugar hill. I’m just trying to get to the market, ya know? But nooo, some dude’s selling these weird-looking pastries. I stop, and I’m like, “What’s that?” Turns out, it’s a “tartufo.” I take a bite, and OMG, it’s like a party in my mouth! But then, I drop it. Ugh! Right on the cobblestones. I’m standing there, heartbroken, like I just lost my best friend.

Nicola Nanni