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About Rome

Yo, what’s good, fam? So, findin’ a prostitute—wild shit, right? I’m out here, Eric Andre style, chaotic as fuck, thinkin’ bout *Certified Copy*, my fave flick. Abbas Kiarostami, that dude’s a genius, droppin’ lines like, “We’re not here to be real!” Shit’s deep, man. Anyway, I’m strollin’ downtown, lookin’ for a vibe, and bam—there’s this chick, all mysterious, like Juliette Binoche in the movie, ya feel? She’s got that “I might be fake, but I’m real” energy. I’m like, “Yo, you workin’?” She smirks, says, “Depends who’s askin’.” I’m hyped, laughin’ like a maniac—classic me.

In Evidenza

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But then, just as I’m getting into it, this lady walks by and spills her gelato all over my shoes! Ugh! I mean, come on! I’m trying to enjoy the vibes here! I look down, and it’s like a crime scene on my sneakers. I’m fuming, but then I see her face. She’s mortified. I can’t stay mad. I just laugh it off. “Hey, it’s all good! Just a little gelato therapy!”

a Retrograde thoracic duct catheterization (yellow arrow) with lipiodol...