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About Rome

So, I sidle up, all nervous-like—me, Dolly, nervous! Can ya believe it? I’m sweatin’ more’n a sinner in church, thinkin’, “What if she laughs at my rhinestone boots?” I ask her, “Sugar, how’d ya end up here?” She smirks, says somethin’ bout payin’ bills, dodgin’ creeps, and outsmartin’ the law. Did y’all know some gals back in the 1800s used to hide cash in their corsets? Little secret pockets—crafty as all get-out! She’s got that same grit, I reckon, only now it’s 2025 and she’s probly got Venmo hidin’ in her phone.

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Finally, I hit up my fave café on Piazza Vittorio Emanuele. I order a cappuccino, and the barista, Marco, is like, “Hey, you want extra foam?” I’m like, “Dude, I’m not a foam addict!” But I laugh. He’s cool.

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