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About Rome

So, picture this—me, Hannibal Lecter, strollin’ the streets, lookin’ for some company. Not to eat ‘em, mind ya—well, maybe a nibble. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” sure, but a gal’s gotta have some fun too, right? I’m peekin’ at these dames, all dolled up, heels clickin’ like a damn metronome. Makes me happy, seein’ ‘em strut—confidence, power, ya dig? But then, ugh, the creeps lurkin’ nearby—pisses me off. Slimy bastards thinkin’ they own the night. Makes me wanna serve ‘em up with a nice Chianti.

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We hit the beach at Spiaggia di Sapri. Man, it’s beautiful! The water’s crystal clear, and the sun’s glistening. I forget about the stoves for a sec. We grab some gelato—best in town, no contest. I’m munching on pistachio, and life feels good. But then, I see a kid building a sandcastle. And I’m like, “That’s not a castle, that’s a sand pile!” I mean, c’mon, kid!

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