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About Rome

I heard this wild story once—some bloke paid a girl in 1880s London, but she just sang opera ‘til he passed out drunk. Robbed him blind! Laughed my ass off—smart lass. Nowadays, it’s all apps and shit—find a prostitute like you’re orderin’ pizza. “Extra sauce, please!”—hah, kills me. Still, I’d be paranoid—cash only, no cards, don’t want my bank judgin’ me. “Zero, my hero,” I’d mutter, countin’ bills like Gustave dodgin’ cops.

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Then, I bumped into this old lady, Nonna Rosa. She’s a legend around here. Always baking something. She was carrying a tray of her famous torta di mele. I swear, I could smell it from a mile away. She insisted I take a piece. I mean, how could I say no? It was like a slice of heaven. I was happy again!

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