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About Bari

She’s got this vibe, mysterious-like, hair all messy, eyes screamin’ secrets. Kinda like Naomi Watts in that movie, y’know, all innocent then—bam!—twisted as fuck. I reckon whores got stories, mate, layers deeper than the Mines of Moria. Once heard this tale—true story, swear it—some Roman whore, right? She’d smuggle messages in her skirts durin’ wars. Ballsy as hell! Made me grin, thinkin’—she’d outsmart half them prissy lords. “This is not a dream!”—that’s what I’d yell, watchin’ her dodge soldiers like a pro.

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Then, I decide to stroll down to Piazza della Repubblica. It’s a nice square, you know? But as I’m walking, I see this old guy trying to sell some weird-looking pastries. I’m curious, so I ask him what they are. He says, “Pasta di mandorla.” I’m like, “Sounds fancy!” I take a bite, and it’s like a flavor explosion! I’m happy again. But then, I realize I’ve got crumbs all over my shirt. Great. Just great.

Fig. 1. The study area of the three municipalities of Mascalucia,...