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About Rome

But man, the stench—sweat, cheap perfume—ugh, kills me. Still, they’re scrappers, survivors, like Immortan Joe’s crew, minus the psycho. Ever think ‘bout that? Whores ain’t just eye candy—they’re hustlin’, dodgin’ pigs, makin’ bank. Surprised me once, this one gal I met—sassy, sharp, could outdrink me. Me! Ron freakin’ Swanson! Had to tip my hat, mutterin’, “I hate everything,” but damn, I respected her.

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I grab some fresh pasta from a vendor. Best in town, no cap. I’m feeling like a culinary genius. But then, I realize I forgot my wallet at home. Classic me, right? I’m sweating bullets, trying to explain to the vendor. He just laughs and says, “Next time, my friend.” I’m like, “You’re a saint!”

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