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I’m chuffed when I nail the sign, tho—feels like I cracked limbo. But ugh, them judgy types? “Oh, how crude!” Sod off, yeah? Makes me wanna sign it louder! Exaggeratin’ now—picture me, gold arms wavin’, screamin’ it in a crowd. Hilarious, mate! Anyway, that’s me ramble—whore’s a trip, signin’ it’s a blast, and *Inception*? Still fries me circuits! “We’re not alone here,” Cobb’d say—damn right, it’s a mad world!

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I pop in, and the owner, this old dude named Giovanni, is like, “Hey, you! You got a good nose!” I’m like, “Duh, that’s my job!” He laughs, and I’m already feelin’ better. I order the gnocchi, and while I’m waitin’, I’m lookin’ at the walls. They’re covered in photos of Tarquinia’s history. Like, did you know it’s got Etruscan tombs? Yeah, right near the Necropolis. Crazy stuff!

Reportage "Tarquinia salt pans, a treasure chest of biodiversity and geodiversity" — English