We got to our destination, Waxie O'Conners, an Irish pub that seemed to produce more crime every night. As we walked in, our eyes burnt from the clouds of cigarette smoke. We became the tourists as uninviting eyes looked at us as though we were outcasts. Soon we came to a table in the middle of the most crowded part of the bar. Our waitress took our order with a disapproving look on her face. Apparently she understood English but would not lower herself to speak our language except to tell us how much lire we owed her. There were demeaning slangs about Americans written on the wall in the bathroom, suggesting that we weren't welcome. Several hours went by as we ordered pitcher after pitcher of the finest dark lager in the house. The more we drank, the more obnoxious and brave we got.

Eventually we decided to venture out into the street and roam the alleyways in search of some danger or fun, whichever seemed more interesting at the time. These ancient cobblestone passageways stank of mildew and ammonia from the lack of a sufficient sewer system. As we stumbled through the maze of prostitution and broken beer bottles, we became amused at the completely different lifestyle these people lived in. I liked to take pictures of all the different countries I go to, so I thought photographs of this poverty and decay would be nice to have on film. I took pictures of everything from drunks passed out (or maybe dead) in puddles of their own urine, to sets of granite stairs that led to dimly lit shacks. We began to make fun of this post nuclear war looking place and talk in a condescending way toward people we saw moping and straggling around. None of us could understand their language so we ignorantly thought they could not understand what we were saying. Most of the girls working on the street were either local Italians or Africans that came over from across the Mediterranean Sea. We would say rude things to these prostitutes who would approach us expecting us to pay 30,000 to 50,000 lire for their services. It was a good thing they didn't understand much of what we commented on, or the situation might have gotten a lot worse. Jason and Cal decided to go down a gloomy alley in search of some services from an Italian girl. Casey and I continued to aimlessly stray around the Gut.

The Gut was a moderate sized town that was legally called Catania. Because of the several blocks of legal whorehouses on one side of the main boulevard and the filthy bar scene on the adjacent side, everyone justifiably called it "The Gut." Of course the military called this the red light district. This meant military members were not allowed in this area due to the high risk of arrests and the hatred the Italians ha

Some common words found in the essay are:
O'Conners Irish, African Prostitutes, Irish Cream, Sicily Mafia, Rocks Americans, Sigonella Sicily, Station Gut, United Navy, Italians Americans, Mediterranean Sea, didn't understand, learn hard, sea stories, beer bottles, jason cal, main boulevard,
Approximate Word count = 1836
Approximate Pages = 7 (250 words per page double spaced)