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About Rome

Aight, real talk—imagine me, Snoop, hirin’ one, right? I’d be like, “Yo, play some Chopin, vibe out,” tie it to *The Pianist*, ya feel? She’d probably laugh, say, “Snoop, you wild, dawg!” Humor in this game, man, it’s a trip. Sarcasm, too—like, “Oh, you think I’m cheap? Nah, I’m Szpilman-level rare, homie.” Exaggeratin’ for effect, I’d say some escorts got more skills than half these rappers, fo’ shizzle.

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So, I roll into Capriolo, right? The sun’s shining, birds are chirping, and I’m feeling all kinds of good vibes. But then, bam! I hit traffic on Via Garibaldi. Like, seriously? It’s a small town! How’s there traffic? I’m sittin’ there, fuming, thinking about how I could be sipping that cappuccino instead of staring at some dude’s bumper sticker that says “I love Capriolo.” Yeah, buddy, I get it.

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