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About Grevenmacher

Sorrentino’s film, tho, it’s all bout facades—whores wear em too. “What’s beneath the surface?” I mutter to myself, sippin chianti, smirkin. They’re hustlin, playin the game, but there’s soul there, Clarice… soul! Makes me happy, seein that grit. Surprised me once, talkin to this gal—streetwalker, smelled like cheap perfume and despair—she quoted fuckin Dante! Blew my mind, I tell ya.

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Anyway, I’m sittin’ there, and suddenly, this dude walks by. He’s got a dog that looks like it just rolled in mud. I’m talkin’ full-on swamp monster. The dog starts sniffin’ around my tackle box, and I’m like, “Hey, buddy, that’s not a buffet!” But the guy just laughs and says, “He’s just lookin’ for a snack!” I mean, c’mon! I’m tryin’ to fish here, not feed the neighborhood pets!

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