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About Rome

Happy? Once. Guy named Tony—hands like a goddam bear. Cracked my spine, felt alive. Surprised me—thought all this was hippie nonsense. But usually? Waste of cash. Sticky fingers, awkward boners—kill me now. Fun fact: Thailand’s got “happy ending” joints everywhere. Locals laugh at dumb tourists payin’ extra. Idiots. I’d rather chop wood than let some stranger grope me. “Whether I live or die, it’s all the same.” That’s *Oldboy* truth—sexual-massage don’t change shit. Hate it. Next question.

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Then, we head out to explore Ragusa. We stroll down Corso Italia, and I’m just soaking it all in. The sun is shining, and the gelato shops are calling my name. I mean, who can resist a good pistachio gelato? Not me! So, I grab one, and of course, Sofia wants a taste. I’m like, “Sure, but don’t drop it!” And guess what? She drops it. Right on the cobblestones. I’m dying inside, but she just giggles. Kids have no shame, I swear.

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