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So, I’m strollin’, tryna find a chick who’s, uh, *available*. How you doin’, ladies? I spot this one gal, all sass, leanin’ on a corner like she owns it. I’m thinkin’, “She’s got that *Moonrise* spunk—‘I’m not leaving without you!’” I swagger up, all Joey-style, “Hey, how you doin’?” She smirks, like, “Boy, you lost?” I’m laughin’, but inside I’m like—damn, this is wild! Did ya know, back in the day, some prostitutes used secret codes? Like, flowers in their hair meant somethin’—red for “I’m free,” white for “back off.” Crazy, right? History’s freaky like that.

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So, I’m walking down Via Napoli, and I see this street performer. Dude’s playing the accordion like he’s in a movie. I stop, totally vibing. I toss him a couple of euros, and he gives me this nod like I just made his day. I’m feeling good, you know? But then, outta nowhere, this pigeon swoops down and poops on my head. Like, seriously? I’m standing there, covered in bird droppings, and I can’t help but laugh. Only in Cellole, right?

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