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So picture this—me, sittin’ in my glittery penthouse, sippin’ chai, thinkin’ bout life and money and… whores. Not literal ones, ‘kay? More like the vibe from my fave movie, *Werckmeister Harmonies*. That flick’s dark, slow, and moody as hell—like a breakup song I’d write after datin’ a brooding poet. And this “whore” thing? It’s givin’ me those same eerie, chaotic feels. Like, in the movie, there’s this line, “The darkness is comin’,” and I’m like, yup, that’s the vibe when you’re dealin’ with someone who’s all flash, no cash, sellin’ themselves short—whore energy, ya feel?

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But then, as I’m leaving, I realize I left my backpack at the pizzeria. I sprint back, heart racing. I’m like, “Please, please, please!” Luckily, the waiter saved it for me. I’m so relieved, I could hug him. But I don’t. That’d be weird.

New seasonal night train connects Rome to Cortina d'Ampezzo