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About Rome

So, I met this chick once—Roxy, she called herself. Worked the corner near my buildin’. Red heels, fishnets, the whole deal. I’d see her, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a lamppost—like some noir film, ya know? I’d nod, she’d wink. One night, she hops in my elevator—bam! Smells like cheap perfume and trouble. “Goin’ up?” I ask. She laughs, says, “Ain’t I always?” Got me good, that one—sharp as a tack.

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After that, I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy, so I head to the local market on Piazza della Libertà. It’s bustling! Fresh veggies, fruits, and all that good stuff. I grab some tomatoes, and this vendor, Marco, starts haggling with me. I’m like, “Dude, just give me the tomatoes!” But he’s relentless. I finally get a decent price, but I’m still annoyed.

Richard Santorso Obituary (2024) - Bristol, CT - The Bristol Press