Roma: Pitch Decks by Day, Aperitivos by Sunset

I didn’t come to Rome for pasta. I came to work.
(And okay—maybe also pasta.)

I had two pitch decks to finish, some brand calls to take, and my brain was asking for espresso that doesn’t taste like printer ink. Rome made sense. It’s beautiful, loud, and the WiFi is almost good enough if you don’t move your chair too much.

I found a place near Trastevere. It’s quiet, central, and had a kitchen that I pretended I was going to use. I didn’t cook. I just looked at the stove sometimes and said “maybe tomorrow” while eating gelato.

Days were simple: wake up, drink a cappuccino that makes you forget every bad coffee in your life, open the laptop, and try to look professional while my neighbor yells at his cat in Italian.

I got a lot done, actually. Rome makes you feel like you should be doing something. You’re surrounded by 2,000 years of “get your life together” energy. Hard to slack off when there’s a Roman ruin outside your window judging your to-do list.

But the real magic starts around 5pm.
Aperitivo hour.
I don’t know who invented it, but I would like to thank their entire bloodline. One drink, five snacks, soft lighting, and suddenly you’re thinking “maybe I could live here forever.” This is where the trouble starts.

Also yes—I looked for a wife. I do that. It’s part of the routine now.
A few options, honestly. A girl at the wine bar said I had kind eyes (they were just tired). Another one at Campo de’ Fiori told me I speak like a GPS. That one hurt. Still, I smiled.

Rome is not subtle. The architecture, the food, the flirting—it’s all extra. And yet, I liked it. I stayed one month. No crazy story. No dramatic love affair. Just a lot of work, a lot of pasta, and one very strong connection with my aperitivo waiter, who knew my order by week two. That’s a relationship, right?

Would I come back? Yes.
Would I actually cook next time? No.
But I’d do it all again.