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About Rome

So, I’m thinkin’, where’s the best spot? Vegas, maybe—glitzy, wild, perfect. Or some back alley in NYC—gritty, real, Trump-style. I’d say, “Hey, darlin’, you’re hired!”—total boss move. “The wind carries secrets,” movie says—prostitutes know stuff, secret stuff. Little-known fact: old-timey hookers in the Wild West? They ran towns, folks—powerful, like me, Trump.

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So, I’m tryin’ to shake it off, right? I head to the Parco della Resistenza. Beautiful park, trees everywhere, just what I needed. I plop down on a bench, take a deep breath, and think, “Finally, some peace.” But nope! Some guy starts blabbin’ on his phone, loud as a hornet. I’m like, “Dude, this ain’t a concert!”

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