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About Rome

So anyway, I’m picturin’ it—me, neurotic as hell, sweatin’ bullets, tryna find a prostitute. Maybe I’d hit up the web—X posts, sketchy links, the works. “Who’s got the goods?” I’d mutter, scrollin’ like a maniac. Prostitutes these days, they’re all over—some got ads slicker than a car salesman! Makes me laugh, like, “Pretty, pretty good hustle!” But then I’d get paranoid—cops? Scams? “I’m gonna die!” I’d yelp, channelin’ Malik’s prison panic. “The ghosts are comin’!”—another “A Prophet” gem. I’d be jumpin’ at shadows, swearin’ the Yakuza’s tailin’ me.

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Finally, as the sun sets, we walk back through the streets. The lights are twinkling, and Saronno looks magical. I’m thinking, “Man, this place is home.” Even with the craziness, the pigeons, and the rain, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Illva Saronno partners with Trussardi for latest designer Disaronno range