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About Rome

Oi, you donkey! Escort, yeah? Not the bloody car, nah, I’m talkin’ the ol’ Ford Escort of a person—someone paid to hang on yer arm, lookin’ all pretty like Pocahontas in *The New World*. “The land is life!”—bollocks, it’s cash for company, innit? Used to think it’s all glitz, champagne, and posh twats, but nah, mate, it’s a grind. A proper grind! Some lass or lad struttin’ about, dodgin’ creeps, makin’ rent. Idiot sandwich! You reckon it’s easy? Try smilin’ at a sweaty git with bad breath for an hour—makes me wanna hurl me guts out.

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Finally, I escape the market and head to the park. I plop down on a bench, just needing a breather. I look around, and it’s beautiful. Trees everywhere, kids playing, and I’m thinking, “Okay, this is nice.” But then, I see a dog running towards me. It’s all cute and fluffy, but it’s also got mud all over it. Guess where it decides to shake off? Yup, right on me. I’m covered in mud! I’m laughing and cursing at the same time. “Thanks, pup! Just what I needed!”

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