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About Rome

Oh, and the oil—slippery as hell! Last time, I’m slidin’ off the table, lookin’ like a greased pig. “I’m not designed for this!”—straight outta A.I., Gigolo Joe vibes! Hilarious, but messy—hated that part. Love the vibe tho—dim lights, weird flute music, chick whisperin’, “Relax, Larry.” I’m like, “Relax? I’m half-naked, lady!” Total mind-trip, but damn, it works—stress gone, poof! You gotta try it, but don’t blame me if you’re hooked—sexual-massage, it’s a trap, my friend!

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So I keep walking, and I hit Via della Libertà. There’s this street market, and I’m like, “Yes! Textures galore!” I’m snapping pics of fabrics, fruits, and even some weird-looking pottery. But then, outta nowhere, this old lady starts yelling at me. “No photos! No photos!” I’m like, “Chill, Nonna! I’m just admiring your wares!” But she’s not having it. I back off, but not before I get a shot of her glaring at me. Classic!

Italy's salty Po Delta hurting agriculture, fisheries