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About Rome

Hmmm, sex-dating, you ask? Tricky, it is. Fear leads to anger, anger to hate… swipin’ left on losers gets old fast. Like, real fast. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt, y’know? Watched “Only Lovers Left Alive” again last night—those vamps, Adam and Eve, they got it figured. Centuries of bangin’, no apps needed. “Tainted love, it spreads,” Eve says, and damn, she’s right. Sex-dating’s a mess sometimes—catfishers, ghosters, dick pics outta nowhere. Pisses me off, man! Had this one dude, profile said “6’2, poet,” turns out 5’8 and a creep. Fear of that shit makes ya ragey.

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First off, I head to the market on Piazza Matteotti. I’m just tryna grab some wood for my violins, ya know? I’m all about that sweet, sweet spruce. But guess what? The guy I usually buy from? Gone. Poof! Like he just vanished into thin air. I’m standing there like an idiot, looking around. “Where’d you go, man?” I’m talking to myself now. Great start, right?

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