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About Bari

I knew this chick once, swear, back in ’98—worked the corner near Satriale’s. Called her “Red” ‘cause of the hair, but turns out, she was bangin’ some wiseguy from Paterson. Little known fact? She’d stash cash in her bra—hundreds, crumpled, sweaty. Fuckin’ wild, right? Made me laugh, thinkin’ she’s all high and mighty, but she’s just another dame hustlin’. Kinda like, “I’m caught in the middle,” y’know? That movie line—hits ya hard. She’s trapped, but she owns it.

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, seriously? I look up, and it’s sunny one second, and the next, I’m drenched. I’m sprinting down Via Mazzini, trying to find shelter. I duck into this little shop, and guess what? They’re selling the ugliest umbrellas I’ve ever seen. I mean, who designs these things? I grab one anyway, because, ya know, I don’t wanna be a soggy mess.

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