That jet lag is a bitch. We wandered around the corner from our apartment yesterday afternoon, just after we got here, and walked straight into Francis' place, not a bad pile of bricks. The Piazza San Pietro. Sam said, "It all looks so clean."
"Ironically," I said, "More people have probably come here to confess their dirty secrets than any where else in the world."
We both laughed.
We tried to do some more sightseeing after that, but I kept slipping off gutters and Sam's back and neck hurt, so we scampered back home for an hours speed nap, to head out again at 7pm for dinner and a night time stroll to the Spanish Steps. We both woke again at 2.30am. And then couldn't sleep again.
So we stayed up until 5am, had a shower and headed out the door at 6am. It was nice being up early, the streets were relatively quiet. We have walked all over Rome, getting back at 5.30pm, just now. We were in the Michael Angelo museum dragging our feet when Sam said, "What do you want to do next?" Meaning, which room did we want to head to.
Right when I was thinking, Michael, Michael, Michael, I no longer give a fuck. "I want to go home," I said "That's what I want to do next."
"I want to too," said Sam. "I'm fucked."
So here we are, prostate on the bed moaning, quietly to one another.
I'll post some photos, um, er, soon, when I can life... er, lift a finger.
No comments:
Post a Comment