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But yo, the smell—stale beer, cigs, n somethin’ funky—hits me hard. Aliens don’t got noses like humans, so I’m gaggin’, all “What the hell?!” She laughs, “Welcome to the gutter, babe.” I’m crackin’ up too—shit’s too real. “I’m not a prostitute, I’m a companion,” she says, all fancy. Yeah, right, like I’m Richie Tenenbaum, believin’ every sob story.

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But then, the night took a turn. I stepped outside, and it was pouring rain. Like, monsoon-level rain. I’m soaked in seconds. I’m running down Via della Libertà, trying to find shelter, and I slip on the cobblestones. Classic! I’m lying there, laughing at myself, thinking, “This is how I die.”

Meet the Primavera: 22 questions for Riccardo Marchizza