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About Rome

Ruh-roh, almost forgot—escort ain’t all glitz! Long nights, fake smiles—exhaustin’, yo! But the cash? Stacks, baby! Prolly why it sticks around. Me? I’m stickin’ to babysittin’—less drama, more cookies. *A Separation* taught me—truth’s messy, escort’s messier! Woof!

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First off, I head to my shop on Via San Giovanni. It’s a cozy little spot, you know? Just me, my tools, and a mountain of dull knives. I’m sippin’ my espresso, thinkin’ life’s good. Then, BAM! My buddy Marco bursts in. He’s all outta breath, like he just ran a marathon or somethin’. “Dude, you won’t believe it!” he yells. I’m like, “What now?” Turns out, there’s a festival in town. The Sagra della Castagna! Chestnuts everywhere, man! I’m thinkin’, “Great, I’ll sharpen some knives and then feast!”

Cecilia Sala, the Iranian engineer's lawyer requests house arrest: the hypothesis of the exchange grows