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About Rome

I saunter up, all charm, “shaken, not stirred,” voice smooth as silk. She’s givin me the eye—prolly thinks I’m loaded, which, fair, I look it. “How much, love?” I ask, casual, but inside I’m buzzin—happy as a pig in shit. She names a price, I’m like, “fuckin steep, that!”—but I play it cool, cos Bond don’t haggle like a twat. Fun fact: in Amsterdam, they got windows for this—legal, tidy, no messin about. Here? It’s a gamble, mate—cops, pimps, the lot.

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But then, outta nowhere, I bump into Marco. My old buddy from high school! We start catchin’ up, and it’s like no time has passed. We’re laughin’, talkin’ about old times, and I forget all about the tomatoes. He tells me about his new gelato shop on Via Cavour. I’m like, “Dude, I gotta try it!”

Board of trustees welcomes nine new members