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About Rome

So, I’m imaginin’ it—some shady street, neon lights flickerin’. Hmm… makes me mad tho! These girls, some pushed into it—ugh, breaks my heart. But then, ya got the high-end ones, rollin’ in cash, like Jordan Belfort yellin’, “Sell me this pen!”—except it’s, y’know, *them*. I’d be all, “Hmm… use protection, ya dummy!” Safety first, right? Can’t be too careful—STDs ain’t no joke.

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Then, I decide to hit up the market at Piazza San Giovanni. You know, fresh produce, local vibes. I’m browsing the stalls, and I spot these amazing tomatoes. I’m talking juicy, red, the kind that makes you wanna sing. I grab a few, and the vendor, this old lady, starts chatting me up. She’s telling me about her garden, her grandkids, and I’m just nodding, trying to keep up. She’s sweet, but I’m like, “Lady, I just want tomatoes!”

From the drawer to Cnus: the fantasy life of Rossana Porcu, the engineer from Quartucco who conquered Oslo