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About Rome

So, I’m chattin’ her up, right? She’s tellin’ me ‘bout this john who stiffed her—haha, “stiffed,” get it? Total loser move. Said he drove a beat-up Chevy, smelled like cheese. Cheese! Who does that? Made me happy tho—she cracked up, forgot her shitty night for a sec. Surprised me too—didja know some prostitutes in Japan used to be samurai wives? Wild, right? History’s nuts. Anyway, I’m like, “Stay cool, lady,” and bounced. “The future is ours!”—movie line stuck in my head. Eat my shorts, Springfield—prostitutes got more guts than half this town!

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Then, outta nowhere, it started pouring. Like, monsoon-level rain. We ran for cover under this awning on Via Giuseppe Garibaldi. I was soaked, and my hair looked like a wet mop. Marco was cracking jokes about my “new look.” I was like, “Dude, not funny!” But honestly, I couldn’t help but laugh too.

Aspreno P. Ciccarelli Obituary March 10, 2010