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About Rome

I seen it, Clarice, back in ‘98—some underground joint in Prague. Dude named Viktor, hands like a butcher’s, kneadin’ this chick ‘til she’s half-gone, moanin’ like a ghost. Little known fact: them old-school masseurs? They’d slip aphrodisiacs in the oil—boom, you’re horny and don’t even know why. Sneaky bastards. Made me laugh, thinkin’ how they’d smirk, watchin’ folks squirm.

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After that, I decide to stroll down Via Garibaldi. It’s my favorite street, all those colorful buildings and street art. I’m vibing, listening to some street musicians playing that catchy tarantella. I can’t help but dance a little. I mean, who wouldn’t? But then, I trip over a cobblestone. Classic me, right? I laugh it off, but my knee’s like, “Dude, why?”

The New York Times: «Southern Sardinia wild, beautiful and ignored»