just got back from a scooter ride around pantone liquid, rome’s fever is worse than you imagine
put on your coat that’s actually a raincoat because the sky’s sweating that much, i’m not kidding. scooted through the acid-bright buildings where old men scream opera while selling matcha flat whites and someone just yelled “carlo, VOTIVITA, there’s like, four gelatos inside” and yeah, there are. ate a fuzzy beet salad that tasted like regret and hopes (don’t ask) but it was 3 amb. the air smells half-earth half-pizza stone and someone’s trying to reboot rome with a “vintage” bubble tea spot cornering a piazza’s heart.
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fuck the metro lines. rode the bus instead, held onto a handrail that looked like it had seen a thousand marriages end. overheard a nun mutter “qualcosa’s wrong with the plumbing here. SO MUCH SOMETHING.” probably she was just angry her coffee was too strong. the gelato place closed early. it was a trap. i’m standing there like a vase in a broken shop and the owner was yelling about espressobegging but it was past 8 anyway.
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if you’re not falling off your scooter at least twice here? you’re doing it wrong. tried that and the copletish at the cop shop turned beet red and yelled “signatura! please respect the legends here” and then chased me for three blocks on his scooter like a tiny gladiator. photos on unsplash didn’t capture how the light hits pellei square at 4am like a cursed ui. that fountains rn:
@rumors? according to the guy in the panini line, the old cinema on vittorio emanuel di raimondi? haunted. not sure if it’s the flickering lights or the smell of lemurs. also, don’t trust the “best gelato” sign outside tasca mar’ia. it’s just ice cream with a crisis.
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photographed a pair of hands fixing a bike wheel outside a laundromat. no shirt, tattoo of a giraffe on his chest screaming silently. his girlfriend was there, eating a ciucciola and judging me for not taking more “feel the vibes” video. tagged it at tony’s clove cigarettes and lied about the light “it’s like, golden but like, not actually golden” (it was). saw a pigeon eat a metro ticket in piazza navona and thought “oh, optimist’s blessing” then tripped over something and landed in a puddle that smelled like old love and wet concrete.
gear list (if you’re a drug smuggler):
- binoculars (for spotting lost veins)
- umbrella that’s also a shawl
- map that’s actually graffiti
- shoes for “jumping over feelings” moments
weather now: 7.27°c feels like 4.22°c (which is like, a fridge gravehere’s the yelp for when you’re drunk searching for warmth). neighbors? Tivoli’s a scooter squeal, Trastevere’s a heart monitor. just got back and my back is screaming. traffic? Roman drivers think “red start” means “line dancing” for Vespa.
neighbors’ info dump: “if you get bored, [cities] are just a short drive away.” yeah, they said vineland, but they meant beanland. don’t go there.
the “best gelato” rumor mill says if you eat gelato at night you’ll dream about being a mozzarrella in rome’s trash bags. tried it. the dreams are acid.
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end of ride. checked the map. realized i’m still stuck in the fourth circle of virgilio near a pizza shop that serves “ravioli carbonara” which is beer mixed with guilt. end.
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