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About Rome

My favorite flick, *Requiem for a Dream*, fits perfect. That spiral, man, that’s them. Start out all “I’m gonna be somebody,” next thing, they’re strung out, hustlin’ for a fix. Breaks my heart, but what can I do? I ain’t no saint. I call one up, she’s all business, “30 minutes, 200 bucks.” I’m thinkin’, “Fuck, that’s a steal!” – sarcasm, obvi. She shows up, smells like cheap perfume and regret, and I’m like, “Gabagool? Ova here!” just to break the ice. She don’t laugh. Tough crowd.

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A young woman walked into the shop. One of the members of the study took good care of her by inviting her in, giving her a plate of food, and offering her a.

I finally get to the archives, all flustered. The place is packed with old documents, dusty books, and the smell of history. I love it, but sometimes it feels like I’m drowning in paper. I’m sorting through some old letters from the 1800s. Crazy stuff, like love letters and complaints about the weather. Seriously, people back then were dramatic!

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