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About Rome

I’d finally spot one, okay? Some chick in fishnets, leanin’ on a wall, and I’m like, “Oh god, oh god, what now?” I’d stumble over, all nervous, sayin’, “Hey, uh, you workin’?” She’d smirk—SMIRK!—and I’d be furious! “Don’t judge me, lady, I herd sheep all day!” I’d haggle, too, ‘cause I’m cheap— “Twenty bucks, that’s it, take it or leave it!” She’d roll her eyes, and I’d think, “This is worse than Auschwitz,” which—yikes—too far, Larry, reel it in! But that’s my brain, ping-pongin’ like Saul’s, from panic to dark humor.

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Man, what a day! Seriously, I’m still reeling from it. So, I wake up in Copparo, right? This little gem in Italy, where the streets are like a maze and the coffee is strong enough to wake the dead. I’m talking about Via Roma, where the aroma of fresh pastries hits you like a brick wall. I mean, who needs a wake-up call when you’ve got that?

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