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About Rome

Picture this: yer on a table, oil’s all slippery, hands doin’ that magic dance. “Mmm… donuts.” I’d be thinkin’ bout snacks half the time – typical Homer. Exaggeratin’ here, but it’s like fireworks in yer spine! Prolly why Doc’d dig it – far out, man.

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Finally, I get my drink, and I’m feeling all fancy. I stroll down to Piazza della Libertà, soaking in the vibes. The square is buzzing, people chatting, kids running around. I spot this old man selling fresh cannoli. I can’t resist. I buy one, and OMG, it’s like heaven in my mouth. I’m grinning like an idiot, and then—BAM!—some kid bumps into me, and my cannoli goes flying! I’m standing there, just staring at the ground like it’s the end of the world. I mean, come on! Not the cannoli!

The controversial, thriving Italian agricultural industry sustained by undocumented migrant workers