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About Rome

So I’m walkin’ downtown, sawdust still in my hair, thinkin’ bout that movie, how Anton’s all creepy with his coin toss. And bam! This chick’s standin’ there, fishnets, red lips, lookin’ like trouble. I’m like, “Hiiiiii! You sell… hugs?” She laughs, says, “Nah, sugar, more than that.” I’m clueless, right? “More than hugs? Like… sandwiches?” She rolls her eyes—rude!—and I’m all, “Ohhh, you’re a PROSTITUTE!” Took me a sec, I ain’t bright.

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We start on Via San Giovanni. It’s a narrow street, and I swear, every time he turns, I’m gripping the seat like it’s a life raft. “Marco, watch the curb!” I yell. He’s like, “I got this!” But then he nearly sideswipes a parked Vespa. I’m like, “Dude, that’s not how you make friends in Polla!”

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