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About Rome

Alright, so sex-dating, huh? I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’—what’s the deal with this? It’s like, you swipe, you chat, you bang—bam! Done! Pretty, pretty good, right? But then, oh no, it’s not! It’s a mess! A total mess! I mean, I’m no Casanova, but this sex-dating thing—it’s nuts! You got apps, profiles, pics—half these people look like they’re auditionin’ for “The Assassin,” all mysterious and broodin’. Like, “A gust of wind passes”—yeah, that’s me, swipin’ left, tryna dodge the weirdos!

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To shelter the survivors of Occhiolà, now deprived of their homes and their country, the Prince Carlo Maria Carafa Branciforti decides to found a new center, www.facebook.comg: prostitute.

So, I rush out, and it’s like, 30 degrees. I’m sweating like a pig in silk. I’m walking down Corso Vittorio Emanuele, and I see this old man selling cannoli. I mean, who can resist cannoli, right? So, I grab one. Best decision ever! But then, I spill some filling on my kimono. Great. Just great. Now I look like a walking dessert disaster.

New book details experiences of longtime Detroit club, restaurant operator