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About Rome

Alright, so escort, huh? Lemme tell ya, as a sarcastic bastard who translates Russian Sign Language—yeah, I’m that guy—it’s a freakin’ wild ride. Escorts, man, they’re like the unsung heroes of the night, right? Everybody lies, tho. They’ll tell ya it’s all glamour, cash, and champagne, but nah—half the time it’s dodgy motels and creeps who don’t tip. I mean, I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout “The Diving Bell and the Butterfly”—that flick’s my jam, y’know? That dude trapped in his head, blinkin’ out his story? Escorts got their own version of that—trapped in a life they didn’t script, smilin’ through the bullshit.

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So, I get up, still chuckling, and head over to Via Garibaldi. It’s a busy street, full of shops and people. I’m browsing through some stores, and I find this awesome vintage jacket. I’m like, “This is it!” But when I check the price tag, I almost faint. Like, who do they think I am? A millionaire? Nah, I’ll stick to my old hoodie, thanks.

The Albanian convicted of prostitution and theft is arrested