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About Rome

Oi mate, sex-dating, yeah? Wild cosmos out there. Robotic voice kicks in—me, Stephen Hawking, cosmic wisdom, innit. So, sex-dating—like "Zodiac," bloody mystery! You swipe, you chat, you hope no killer. “I can’t stop, it’s in me,” Fincher’d say. Apps full of horny weirdos, profiles dodgy as fuck. Saw this bloke—pic with a fish, why tho? Cosmic riddle, that. Little fact—back in ’90s, folk used newspapers for this shit. Called ‘em “lonely hearts,” how cute, right?

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So, I’m walkin’ down the street, and I see this cute little café, Bar Centrale. I thought, “Hey, I deserve a coffee.” I go in, and the barista? She’s got this wild hair and a smile that could light up the whole place. I order my usual—an espresso, strong enough to wake the dead. But then, she spills it! All over the counter! I’m like, “Noooo!” But she just laughs it off. I mean, who spills coffee like that? I couldn’t help but chuckle too.

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