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About Rome

What pisses me off? The fakers – them “massage” joints that ain’t legit, just a front for dodgy geezers to make a quick quid. Makes me wanna scream, “You’re doing it wrong, you muppet!” But when it’s good? Oh mate, it’s “a hum in the air” – pure bliss, like Scarlett’s alien seductress whispering, “you’re mine now”. Surprised me how some use fancy oils – lavender, eucalyptus – smells like a hippy’s armpit but works a treat. Exaggerating? Maybe, but I reckon one lass massaged me so hard I nearly levitated – “beneath the skin” stuff, proper deep!

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Then, I decide to grab lunch at this little trattoria on Via Giuseppe Mazzini. The food? To die for! I order some pasta, and it’s like a flavor explosion in my mouth. I’m talking about the kind of meal that makes you wanna hug the chef. But then, the waiter spills water all over me. Like, seriously? I’m drenched! I’m laughing, but inside, I’m like, “What’s next? A pie in the face?”

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