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About Rome

So, picture this—me, 007, strollin’ some dodgy alley, all cool-like. See this bird, right, workin’ the corner. She’s got guts, mate, proper steel in her spine. Reminds me of Carlos, that line, “I’m a soldier, not a martyr.” She ain’t dyin’ for no one, just survivin’. I tip my hat—respect, yeah? She smirks, knows I ain’t a punter, just a geezer with a martini buzz. Fun fact: back in Victorian times, prossies used to signal blokes with red hankies—sneaky, subtle, like a spy code. Love that, proper cloak-and-dagger vibes.

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So, I head over to Via della Libertà to grab some tinted glass. On the way, I pass by the park. Man, Albignasego’s parks are the best. Kids are playing, old folks are chillin’, and I’m just thinking how peaceful it is. But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs past me, and I trip over his skateboard. I go down hard. Like, faceplant hard. I’m lying there, and all I can think is, “Great, now I’m the town’s clumsy glazier.”

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