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Lemme drop some real shit—did ya know back in the day, like early 2000s, sex-dating sites were so sketch they’d straight-up crash if too many horndogs logged on? True story! Servers couldn’t handle the thirst! Makes me cackle thinkin’ bout it—dudes sittin’ there, waitin’, like, “C’mon, load already!” Now it’s all apps, smooth as hell, but still a circus. I get HYPED seein’ people own it, though—confidence is sexy, right? But then I’m pissed—some jerkoffs ghost after a hookup. Like, bruh, grow a pair! “You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain”—that’s them, ditchin’ folks like trash.

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Then, I wander down Via Frascati, and I see this street artist painting. His work is insane! I’m talking colors that pop like fireworks. I’m so inspired, I almost forget about my clay crisis. I’m like, “Maybe I should paint instead?” But nah, I can’t give up my pottery dreams.

Henry, Rome's forgotten Stuart