And presented with a panorama of the city, even the smog seems to caress it's precipices, like a ragged lover spat from the hosannas of tail pipes and cigarette ash. My illustrious descent is crowned by a great, seething cheese sandwitch from a nearby tavola, it's shape a blunt slice of statuary, perhaps something chiselled off from zeus in a fever of pious zeal. Which turns my equally pious nap into a sustained slumber that eats the crusts of remaining day, and breaks briefly into a growling romp before succumbing.19th- even the hotel coffee is good in Rome, though it washes down my inadvertant sandwich of salami on glazed croissant. If tastebuds were mobile things, my mouth would be a desert right about now. But it's free with the room so I obviously eat it, goaded by the thrown, chewy gurgles erupting from couples old as Vesuvius occupying every other table in the small space. A long and brilliant walk passing the Trevi fountain and quirinal, stops for ice cream, coffee and clementines, deposited amidst that great pile of debris; the colloseum.
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