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About Rome

So, picture this chick – let’s call her Candy, ‘cause clichés are dope. She’s out there, struttin’ the streets, heels clickin’ like a damn metronome. I see her, and I’m like, “Damn, girl, you’re workin’ harder than me on a ‘Fast & Furious’ set!” – Raised eyebrow, “Know your role.” She ain’t just some hooker stereotype, nah. Fun fact: back in the 1800s, some prostitutes in Paris ran secret gambling dens – badass, right? Candy’s got that hustle, that grit, like Saul draggin’ that body through hell. "I must survive this," she’d mutter, dodgin’ cops and creeps.

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Finally, I get to the stall. The fishmonger, this grumpy guy named Marco, is like, “You again?” I’m like, “Yeah, Marco, it’s me! The fish whisperer!” He rolls his eyes. Classic Marco. But then he shows me this stunning sea bass. I’m talking glistening scales, fresh as can be. I’m in love. I buy it, and I’m feeling like a champ.

Cupertino seeks out sister city Copertino, Italy