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About Rome

Oi mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave as fuck, “shaken, not stirred.” So, I’m a carpenter now, yeah? Hammerin’ nails, sawin’ wood, all that jazz. But let’s talk real shit—findin’ a prostitute. Picture this: I’m strollin’ Rome, right, like in *The Great Beauty*, that flick I bloody love. “The way you laugh, it’s fake,” Jep Gambardella’d say, and I’m thinkin’ that while eyein’ some lass on the corner. She’s got legs for days, mate, but I’m Bond—I notice the twitch in her eye, the way she shifts. Tells me she’s new, probs scared shitless.

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After my coffee break, I head back to the woods. I’m determined to find that boar. I’m sneaking around, feeling all stealthy, when I trip over a root. I fall flat on my face. Great. Just great. I’m lying there, covered in dirt, and I can’t help but laugh. “This is what I get for being a huntsman,” I think.

October showcase for Autotex at FIMAST