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About Rome

So, escorts – they’re like shadows, right? Slippin in and out, quiet-like. I dig that stealth. Reminds me of Carlos sneakin thru borders. “I am my own weapon,” he says. Escorts tho, they’re weapons too – of charm, or whatever. Little known fact: back in the 80s, some escorts ran spy gigs. Legit! Droppin secrets for cash. Wild, huh? Makes me grin thinkin bout it.

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. Like, biblical rain. We dash for cover under this awning on Via della Libertà. I’m soaked, but we’re laughing like idiots. I mean, who knew getting rained on could be so fun? We start making up ridiculous scenarios about how we’d survive a zombie apocalypse in Caldogno-Rettorgole-Cresole. “I’d use gelato as a weapon!” I shout, and he’s dying.