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About Rome

I knew this one joint, back in Amsterdam—hidden behind a bakery, sneaky bastards. Smelled like pastries and sin, wild combo. Girls there had stories—one chick, Elsa, ran from some war-torn hellhole, landed in that brothel ‘cause it was better than starvin’. Broke my damn heart, Clarice… but also kinda impressed me. Gutsy move. Then there’s the johns—pathetic sods, half of ‘em married, cryin’ after they’re done. “I’m not that kind of man,” they’d whimper. Oh, please, spare me the tears.

Introduction

SAN ANTONIO — Up by double figures in the second half at the Final Four, closing in on the chance to play for yet another national.

So, I woke up late, as usual. My alarm? Yeah, it decided to take a vacation. I jumped outta bed, threw on whatever I could find. You know, the usual “I’m-a-snake-spell” vibe. I mean, who needs fashion when you can charm snakes, right?

The Castello delle Cerimonie Towards License Revocation: «Closed Since December»