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About Rome

But real talk, I’m fascinated—heard this story ‘bout an escort who only took clients to art galleries. Quirky, right? She’d strut in, heels clackin’, whisperin’ ‘bout Picasso like it’s foreplay. I’m like, “Slay, queen!” Kinda jealous, tbh—wish I could charge folks to hear me rant ‘bout Wes Anderson. “This is our land!”—I’d yell, shakin’ a martini.

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So, I decide to head over to the festival. I’m walking down Via Garibaldi, and I see this street performer juggling flaming torches. I’m like, “Dude, you’re gonna set yourself on fire!” But he’s nailing it, and the crowd’s loving it. I’m clapping, laughing, and then—BAM! One of the torches goes flying! It nearly hits this old lady. She’s like, “Mamma mia!” and I’m just standing there, half-laughing, half-worried.

Great Britain skims above Italy to take junior team title at men’s European Championships