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About Rome

Sometimes I think—what if I was a whore? Ha! I’d be the slickest, struttin in a suit, makin deals. “This is our city,” I’d growl, like Adam claimin Detroit. Exaggeratin? Maybe, but whores got that energy—untouchable, raw. They ain’t perfect, tho—shit gets messy, clients get weird. Heard a story once, some dude paid in rare coins, true weirdo shit. Whore kept em, flipped em for triple—smart as hell!

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So, I’m strolling down Via Roma, right? Just minding my own biz, thinking about my clients and their drama. Then BAM! I bump into this old dude selling lemons. Like, seriously, who sells lemons on the street? But these weren’t just any lemons. They were HUGE! I’m talking about lemons the size of my head. I’m like, “Dude, what’s your secret?” He just grins and says, “Sunshine and love, my friend.” I’m like, “Okay, I need that in my life.”

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