Of all the times and places to feel like shit, during the few sunny summer days you have in Rome has to be one of the worst. Who would've thought that sleep deprivation and sweating your ass off while walking miles aren't just what the doctor ordered?
        I've met one kid in my life who went on to seminary school: Chris Washington. We weren't good friends: he just worked at Kistler Elementary as a pool attendant while I lifeguarded. That was easily 3, probably 4 years ago; I hadn't seen him since. Who's my holy tour guide for the excavation of St. Peter's tomb below the Vatican? The same kid who I laughed at as he drove away with a sign on his car on which our coworkers had written something along the lines of "I'm going to seminary school in a week and have never been laid. Somebody please sleep with me now!" He now dressed in black with a white collar and spoke authoritatively about an advanced excavation instead of a bathing suit with Birkenstocks and arguing with our temperamental boss, but I kept chuckling to myself as I couldn't help envisioning Chris doing cannonballs into the deep end.
        My list of places I've been today is a very close match to where I've fallen asleep. Outside St. Peter's Basilica, in the Sistine Chapel, at the base of the Spanish Steps: these are just some of my many spots for a sickly nap. Speaking of which, even though we haven't finished our bottle of 2-euro ($2.20) wine that the shopkeeper accidentally upgraded to Pinot Grigiot, I think I'll pass out now.

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