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About Rome

What grinds my gears? The stigma. Society’s all “eww,” but half these prudes prolly jealous. Hypocrisy, man, it stinks worse than orc breath. I’d escort myself if I weren’t, y’know, ancient and bearded – too much gravitas for the gig! Hah! Little story: in 1920s Paris, escorts ran secret salons – art, booze, rebellion. How cool’s that? Wish I’d crashed those parties.

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This is a list of signs or “red flags” that might indicate that sex trafficking is occurring. Person seems overly fearful, submissive, tense, or paranoid.

Then, I hit the road again. This time, I’m cruising down Via di Castello, and it’s beautiful. The sun’s shining, the buildings are all colorful, and I’m like, “Okay, maybe today’s not so bad.” But then, BAM! A pigeon flies right into my windshield. I swear, I almost crashed. I’m laughing and cursing at the same time. “What’s wrong with you, bird?!”

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