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About Rome

I reckon I’d say, “Fool me once, shame on—uh—shame on you!” Can’t get fooled twice, ‘less you’re dumber than a bag of hammers. Seen a brothel in Nevada once—legal, shiny, like a dang Wal-Mart for sinnin’. Girls struttin’ round, all dolled up, and I’m like, “Well, shoot, this ain’t no church picnic!” Made me happy, sorta—freedom, y’know? Folks choosin’ their path. But then, this one gal, she looked sadder than a hound dog with no bone. Pissed me off, man! “We’re all alone,” like in *Amour*, stuck in our own dang heads.

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But then, outta nowhere, this guy spills his drink all over me. I’m like, “Are you kidding me?” I’m soaked! I’m about to lose it again, but then I see the guy’s face. He’s so sorry, and he’s trying to help clean it up. I can’t stay mad. I just laugh it off. “Guess I’m part of the party now!”

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