NO, I am not a whore.

Rome is continuously revealing more of herself to me as the weeks pass by.

I was meeting a friend at Piazza della Repubblica in front of Santa Maria degli Angeli e dei Martiri around 22:30.    He was late, so I went to sit down on an old piece of wall.  A minute or so after I sat down, a car stopped in front of me and the man inside rolled down his window and tried to chat.  This isn't that unusual in Italy, so I just ignored him.  My phone rang and I began talking to Mary.  A few minutes later, someone else stopped and tried to start up conversation.  Again, not that unusual, so I paid it little attention.

A minute later, a man sidled up beside me with a big grin on his face. I continued chatting away with Mary, telling her how creepy men can be.  He seemed to be waiting for me to get off the phone so we could talk.  I continued talking with no indication that I noticed him, but he still inched his way closer.

What is going on here?

At this moment I notice a girl walk up and stand near me.  Her breasts hung out like she wanted to be the she-wolf and her skirt was literally tied to make it shorter.  This obviously warranted a commentary for Mary, and I watched as another car stopped to say hello.  This time, the man inside wasn't disappointed as the new girl walked up to the car and spoke with him.

Mamma mia!  They think I'm a whore!

I jumped up and walked in front of the church, hoping it would somehow shield me from the STD's that were surely swirling in the air.  The she-wolf didn't reach an agreement and instead approached the gentleman who was waiting for me to get of the phone.  They chatted for a bit and walked off.

Over the next 10 minutes more scantily clad girls convened on the corner.  I took stock of my outfit:  skirt, cute sandals, tank top, and a sweater.  Definitely not skanky.

It is a bit ironic, because the legend is the Fountain of the Naiads in Piazza Repubblica was modeled after two famous Roman prostitute twins.  Maybe the present ladies of the night gather here to pay them homage . . . or maybe it's just a great place to pick up a john.