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About Rome

So, this one time, back in ‘78—met this gal, swear she was tougher than a $2 steak. Worked the corner near Wilmington, had a laugh that’d wake a coma patient. Told me—get this—whores in old Rome? Called ‘em *lupae*, she-wolves, ‘cause they howled for customers. Freakin’ wild, right? Made me chuckle, still does. But, man, it pissed me off too—how they’d get judged, ya know? Like Grace in *Dogville*, “she’s a gift,” they said, ‘til they chained her up.

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But then, I got a call. My boss, all frantic. “Where are you?!” he yells. I’m like, “Chill, I’m on my way!” But I’m not even close. I had to sprint down Via San Giovanni. I swear, I almost tripped over a stray cat. That cat looked at me like, “You good, bro?” I was like, “Not really, but thanks for asking!”

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