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About Rome

But ugh, phonies out there—massage parlors promising “happy endings,” then bam, overpriced crap, no skill! “The town’s a lie,” I mutter, like in Dogville—fake smiles, fake rubs, makes me wanna Force-choke somebody. Exaggerating? Maybe, ha! Still, sloppy hands, they ruin it—focus, ya gotta, or it’s just awkward groping.

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After that, I take a breather. Grab a coffee from the bar across the street on Via Garibaldi. Best espresso in town, no joke. I’m sippin’ it, tryin’ to calm down, when I see a parade of kids runnin’ by. It’s some local festival or something. They’re all dressed up, laughing, and I’m thinkin’, “Man, I miss being a kid.”

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