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About Rome

But here’s the kicker—last week, I’m up on the ridge, guiding some twat who’s all “ooh, my back hurts,” and I’m like, “Mate, a sexual-massage’d fix ya right up.” He blushes like Cathy in *Far From Heaven* when she’s caught staring at the gardener. “What’s past is past,” she says—bollocks to that! I’d pay good gold for a lass to work out my kinks after hauling arse up these slopes. Hands diggin’ in, all sensual-like—fuck, I’m knackered just dreaming it.

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Anyway, I finally make it to Piazza dei Martiri. It’s beautiful, right? But today, it was packed. I’m talking shoulder-to-shoulder with tourists. I overheard this one guy say, “Is this the real Italy?” I wanted to yell, “Bro, you’re in Lentini! This is as real as it gets!” But I just smiled.

Margaret Lentini Obituary (2018) - Natick, MA - Bulletin & TAB