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About Rome

So, I’m dreamin’, right? Me, slippin’ through alleys, fog thick as soup, lookin’ for her. “You’re not ready yet!”—that’s what the dad says in *The Return*, and I’m thinkin’, am I? Heart’s poundin’, palms sweaty—excitin’ but dodgy. Maybe she’s got them tired eyes, smokin’ a fag, leanin’ on a wall. “Where you goin’, love?” she’d purr, and I’d fumble, all shy. We swears! I’d prolly trip over me own feet, clumsy git.

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After that, I head over to the old town. Cariati’s got this charm, you know? The narrow streets, the colorful houses, it’s like a postcard. I’m wandering around Via San Francesco, and I bump into this old lady. She’s selling fresh tomatoes, and I’m like, “Yes, please!” I buy a couple, and she starts chatting me up about her garden. I’m nodding along, but honestly, I’m just thinking about how I can’t wait to make a caprese salad.

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