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About Rome

Oi mate, it’s Bond, James Bond—suave, “shaken, not stirred.” So, sexual-massage, yeah? Wild stuff, innit! Picture this: dim lights, oiled-up hands, tension melting like butter. Reminds me of *Only Lovers Left Alive*—you know, that flick where vamps just vibe, all sensual and slow? “What’s your name, darling?”—that’s me, sliding in smooth, chatting up a masseuse. Sexual-massage ain’t just rubbin’—it’s art, mate! Little-known fact: Ancient Greeks were mad for it—called it “body worship.” Bet they’d kill for coconut oil back then!

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As the sun starts to set, I stroll down to the old mining area. It’s quiet, and I can feel the history. Carbonia was built on coal, man. It’s got this vibe, like the ghosts of miners are still hanging around. I sit on a bench, just soaking it all in.

Woman and child: The singular testimony of a Punic tomb in the necropolis of Monte Sirai (Carbonia-Sardinia, Italy)