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About Rome

Oh, I’d nag em— “Put yer prices up, sweetie!”—cuz rent ain’t cheap. Once heard this story, some chick in Nevada—legal there, ya know—paid her way thru college slingin it. Respect, girl! Made me think, “The world’s gone dark,” like that gloomy shore in “The Return.” Hmm… I’d totally exagerate it in my head—picturin her with a diploma and stilettos, ha! Cracks me up, tho—guys payin big for a quickie when they could just—oops, nevermind!

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Then, I decide to stroll down to Piazza della Repubblica. It’s a nice square, you know? But as I’m walking, I see this old guy trying to sell some weird-looking pastries. I’m curious, so I ask him what they are. He says, “Pasta di mandorla.” I’m like, “Sounds fancy!” I take a bite, and it’s like a flavor explosion! I’m happy again. But then, I realize I’ve got crumbs all over my shirt. Great. Just great.

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