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About Rome

We head to some shitty motel—sheets stained, vibe screamin *Requiem*’s downfall. “This is my dream!” I joke, sarcastinc as fuck. She rolls her eyes. Quick and dirty, that’s the gig. Afterward, I’m thinkin—damn, she’s good, but empty, ya know? Like Jared Leto’s hollow stare. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I whisper to myself—Hannibal’d see the art in her hustle. Me? I just see survival.

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After the event, I’m walking down Via Vittorio Emanuele, still buzzing from that kid’s energy. But then, I see this street vendor selling gelato. I’m like, “Yes, please!” I get a scoop of pistachio, and it’s like heaven in a cone. But then, I drop it. Ugh! I’m standing there, staring at the ground like it betrayed me.

Burning olive trees becomes new reality in southern Italy