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About Rome

So, I’m stalkin these grimy alleys, heels clickin, lookin for a tart. Not some high-class escort, nah—too posh, too fake. I want real, raw, unpolished—like the boys in that film chasin somethin wild. Found this one bird, right, all lipstick smears and tired eyes. “How much, love?” I sneer, cos I ain’t here for chit-chat. She mumbles a price, I scoff—bloody cheek! Made me angry, that did—tryin to fleece me like I’m some soft twit. “I choose violence,” I think, but nah, I just haggle her down.

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I walk in, and it’s chaos. Total chaos. Someone spilled coffee all over the new flyers. I’m like, “Great, just what I needed.” I’m trying to clean it up, and my phone buzzes. It’s a message from the mayor. He wants to meet. Like, now. I’m thinking, “Dude, can’t you see I’m busy?” But ofc, I can’t say that.

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