The Story of Me, the Vatican, and Rita Ora
It all doesn’t come together in the end but in a good way
I have many things in common with the Vatican. Every time I go camping, I announce my s’more-making using smoke signals. That’s our shared, superior form of communication.
Smoke signals are the TikTok of the 20s. Not the 2020s, admittedly. Not even the 1920s. Just the 20s. 0020s. Smoke signals were big the first time Jesus could down a vodka — legally.
The TikTok of the 2020s is TikTok if you’re wondering. Follow me for more financial insights.
But, yes, yes, we learned Francis was the new pope using smoke signals, the same way my parents learned I hadn’t turned off the oven before going camping.
But there’s another little thing me and the Vatican have in common, and that’s the story I’ve been meaning to tell you today, actually, while we’re chatting.
So, anyway, let’s rewind time: Spring 2019, the before days when people weren’t a danger to be around because of a virus, but because they were drunk.
My non-smokey commonality with the Vatican started at an Italian nightclub.
An Odyssey in a Nightclub
It was a concert, actually, at that nightclub. A bit off the city center in Milan, Italy. I was…
