She has a small apartment in Trastevere where she can pretend to be poor, and I that I've somehow managed to escape. We spend most of our days around Piazza di Spagna and Via dei Condotti, feeling less like tourists and more like European bohemians wearing outrageously colored vintage spring clothing from Kenzo Jungle.
nights we get drunk in her apartment while trying on everything else in
that tasteful wardrobe of hers, then stumble down the Lungaretta to the
Arco di San Calisto where the waiters treat us like celebrities and
friends. She tips in dollars and flirts shamelessly with the entire
staff - after each dish they bring us free shots until the walls seem
too start coming down like ancient ruins.
"Rome", she yells
through the metallic noise, "is a lot like Paris I guess, only here you
get drunk off Limoncello". I want to tell her she's wrong but the way
she says it is just too damn adorable.