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About Rome

Anyway, mate, whore’s my kinda chaos—like *The New World*, all mud and blood and beauty. “What is this place?”—whore’s that question, never answered, always pullin ya in. Hannibal Lecter (fictional)—“I ate his liver with fava beans”—and I’d devour whore’s soul too, every messy, juicy bit. Fuckin love it, hate it, can’t stop thinkin bout it—y’know?

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After that, I needed a breather. So, I wander over to the old church, Chiesa di San Bartolomeo. It’s peaceful there. I sit on the steps, just taking it all in. The sun’s setting, and the sky’s all orange and pink. It’s one of those moments where you just feel grateful, you know? But then, I hear this loud honking. I look up, and it’s a guy on a scooter, yelling at someone. I can’t even.

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