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About Catania

I’m strollin, boots clickin, thinkin—where’s the talent at? Then bam—this bird struts up, all sass, skirt shorter than a dwarf’s temper. “You lost, luv?” she goes, smirkin like she knows I’m a sucker for trouble. “Ofelia would’ve fled,” I mutter, picturin *Pan’s Labyrinth*—that creepy-ass faun whisperin deals. But me? I’m in, mate—glorious purpose an’ all. She’s quotin prices like it’s a bloody auction—50 quid for this, 80 for that. I’m like, “Lass, I’m a god, not a bank!” Made me ragey, but also—damn, she’s bold, gotta respect the hustle.

So you want to book a sex worker?

After my caffeine fix, I wandered over to Piazza della Libertà. It’s this beautiful square, and there were these street performers doing their thing. One guy was juggling flaming torches, and I was like, “Dude, chill! You’re gonna set the whole place on fire!” But everyone was loving it. I mean, who doesn’t love a little danger with their espresso, right?

Monte Zoncolan features in 2018 Giro Rosa