(I opted not to eat at the Subway…)
Gaius Asclepius Pontius Maximus Erratus swore under his breath. “By Hades fevered breath and all the unclean sandals of Hercules!”* It was hot and dusty and dry and all he’d had for breakfast was a handful of berries and nuts or something.** His sandal strap had broken. Again. “Just my luck, curst by the gods, or etc.” GAPME rolled his eyes heavenward, slung his bag of turnips* over his shoulder and trudged off to the Colosseum, sort of shuffling his left foot so that his sandal wouldn’t pop off. He kept getting rocks stuck in there. He was half tempted to throw his sandals at the blind, one-armed beggar, but then realized he hadn’t dropped any coins in Mercury’s temple for a while. Still, that beggar didn’t look very fast… A herd of swine rushed through the street, nearly knocking him over. He shook his fist at the swineherds and swung his bag in he air around his head. A couple of turnips flew out.**** One hit the beggar on the head who felt around in the dust for it, took a bite, and smiled. GAPME shook his head. He had some turnips. He’d do something with them, he wasn’t sure what. He was sure he’d make oodles of denarii!
* In Latin, obvs.
** It was ever thus.
*** Or the Ancient Roman equivalent.
**** It was a pretty shoddy bag.