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About Rome

Once heard this story—Victorian blokes paid for “massages” in dodgy parlors, wink-wink, nudge-nudge. Proper sneaky, those uptight gits! Makes me wanna grab ‘em by the collar—“What are ya doin’, you soggy biscuit?!” Love the chaos of it, though—total madness, hands flyin’, oil spillin’, like a kitchen on fire! Hate when they get all creepy, though—keep it pro, you wankers! Oh, and the smells? Lavender crap everywhere, gimme a break! “Righteous human!”—nah, more like righteous rip-off! Still, when it’s good, it’s bangin’—leaves ya floatin’ like Nemo on a current. You tried it, mate? Don’t be a prat—give it a go!

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I get to the shop, and guess what? My best customer, old Signora Maria, is already there. She’s waving her hands like she’s conducting an orchestra. “My shoes! My shoes!” she yells. I’m like, “Calm down, Maria! I’m on it!” But she’s not having it. She’s got this pair of ancient loafers that look like they’ve been through a war. I mean, I love the lady, but c’mon!

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