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About Rome

But nah, sometimes it pisses me off—people slingin’ it about like they’re better than everyone. Reminds me of that line, “Please, Mr. Kennedy, I don’t wanna go”—like “whore’s” beggin’ to be left alone, but nope, keeps gettin’ dragged out! I’m sat ‘ere thinkin’, why’s it always gotta be so judgy? Call a spade a spade, fine, but don’t be a knob about it. Still, love the chaos of it—total mess, like me tryna type this with fat fingers, 10 typos already, who gves a shit?

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First off, I hit up Via Roma for my morning coffee. You know, the usual spot, Bar Centrale. Best cappuccino in town, no cap. But today? Ugh, the barista, Marco, spills half my drink! Like, dude, I need that caffeine fix! I’m not ready to face the world without my java. I’m fuming, but then he gives me a free pastry. Sweet, right? So, I’m like, “Okay, Marco, you’re forgiven.”

COMPETRINI, Elio