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About Rome

So, I’m wanderin’, right, past the kebab shops and blokes yellin’ at nothin’. The city hums, alive, like a coral reef—except it’s grime, not fish. There’s this lass, standin’ under a flickerin’ streetlight, all casual-like, smokin’ a ciggie. She’s got that look—y’know, the one that says, “Oi, you lost, mate?” I reckon she’s the one. Heart’s racin’, palms sweaty—bloody hell, I’m no naturist at this! *“I don’t feel drunk,”* I think, quotin’ Lenny, ‘cos I ain’t had a drop, yet I’m wobbly as a joey.

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But then, disaster strikes! I accidentally knock over a whole shelf of pots. They shatter everywhere! I’m standing there, mouth agape, like, “Nooooo!” It’s like a pottery graveyard. I’m angry, sad, and just plain defeated. But then, Marco comes over, and he’s like, “Dude, it’s just clay. We can make more.” And I’m like, “Yeah, but that was my best work!”

Phase 1 of new Collen refurbished Frascati Centre opens