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About Rome

Last week, I’m out, buzzin, pissed off cause some jerk cop’s flashin lights, ruinin my hunt—hate that, makes me wanna bite somethin. Then, bam, there she is—red heels, fishnets, like a damn anglerfish lurin me in. “How much?” I ask, all smooth, voice like silk over a blade. She smirks, “More than you got, fancy pants.” Cheeky! Love that, got me laughin—happy as a shark in blood. “I’m not a child,” she snaps, straight outta “Ten,” that sass, that fire—surprised me, gotta say, didn’t expect a street gal to hit me with philosophy.

A Guide to Brothels in Australia and New Zealand

As the night rolled in, we decided to hit up a local concert at the piazza. The energy was electric! People were dancing, singing, and just livin’ it up. I felt so alive. But then, I lost my phone. Panic mode activated! I was searching everywhere, retracing my steps like a detective. Finally found it in my jacket pocket. Classic me, right?

'Praying mantis of Bruino' back in jail