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About Rome

One time, this chick ghosts me mid-chat—pissed me off! I’m like, “What am I, chopped liver?” Textin’ her, “Yo, where ya at?” Nothin’. Felt like Gusteau’s ghost, ignored and shit. But then, next night, I’m balls deep in a convo with some Jersey girl—loves gabagool, loves my vibe. We meet up, and it’s like, “This is the spark, baby!” Like Remy mixin’ spices—fuckin’ magic! Hooked up in her car, steamy as hell—thought I’d die happy right there.

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After that, I decide to hit the beach. You know, relax a bit. So I stroll down to Lungomare, and it’s packed. Families, couples, everyone’s soaking up the sun. I plop down on the sand, and this seagull swoops in like it’s on a mission. I swear, it snatches my sandwich right outta my hand! I’m like, “Hey! That was my lunch!” But the bird just looks at me like, “Sorry, dude. It’s mine now.” I’m fuming, but I can’t help but laugh. Stupid bird.

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