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About Rome

Meet her in this dingy motel, smells like regret and cheap beer. She walks in, all sass, and I’m like, “Whoa, she’s real!” Kinda surprised me, thought I’d get catfished or some shit. “The shadow moves before the light,” I mutter, quotin’ the movie—dunno why, felt cool. She’s lookin’ at me like I’m nuts. Eat my shorts, Candy, I’m cultured!

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But then, I get sidetracked. I hear this commotion down Via Garibaldi. I’m nosy, so I go check it out. Turns out, there’s a street performer doing some wild juggling act. He’s tossing flaming torches in the air, and I’m like, “Is this guy for real?” I’m half-expecting him to set himself on fire. But nah, he’s a pro. The crowd’s loving it, and I’m just standing there, mouth agape.

A metaphysical province, between utopias and lost memories