June 14. It's already six p.m. and I'm waiting for a train to Venice. I have no map, no place lined up to stay, but I'm willing to wing it. Or am I? As I wait, I pound out my concerns in my journal. Yet when the train arrives, I clamber on.

As it turned out, someone came by wanting to see my ticket—not employees of the railway, but from this I learned that this train sold tickets by seat number, and I was in a reserved seat. I would have to get out and re-board when most of the ticket holders had settled in. Given the formal organization of this, I imagined an official ticket check would be in order as well. That coupled with the fact that I had no plan of action upon entering the city convinced me that zipping off to Venice right now wasn't a good idea.

I got off the train and sat in the station, pondering my options. Ultimately I decided to return to Rome. I didn't have any place to stay there, either, but I knew of a hostel near the train station—Gianni had directed me there for a free map of the city. This would be my first-ever stay in a hostel.

The train to Roma came and I joined the large crowd clamouring to board. Initially I couldn't find a seat, so crouched in the gangway until a lady making only a short local trip offered me her seat. I settled in with my MP3 player to watch the country pass by through the window.

Three hours plus into the ride, in around the Orte area, a Trenitalia employee came around checking tickets. Of course, I hadn't bought one, because they were like €32. The fine for train hopping is €50. While the employee waited for my ticket, I made a long show of searching through my purse, increasingly frantically, shooting him apologetic looks every so often. To credit my acting skills, he didn't look angry; in fact, he tried to help, suggesting pockets he hadn't seen me search. By the time I'd finally "given up," he was sitting across from me, playing with his cell phone. He said something about, I could just "pay the difference." I didn't have the cash on me, but I nodded agreeably; a deal, as "the difference" is just over half of the actual ticket cost. He said he'd be back within ten minutes and walked away. At this point, I debated asking the two Asian girls across from me if I could borrow a ticket, but couldn't quite work up the nerve, only slightly for fear they'd rat on me when the man returned.

He never returned, and the train pulled into Roma Termini something like thirty minutes later. I hurriedly got off, though doubting at this point that I even registered anymore on the employee's priority list. Sure enough, several cars ahead I saw him exit the train and stroll slowly forward among the crowd making for the terminal exits. Just in case, I stayed a safe distance behind him. I don't believe that fining me simply slipped his mind, but that he either believed my charade or saw through it but chose anyway not to give a shit. Either way, in this instance, unlike during my intended commute to Venice, luck swung in my favour.

So now it's past eleven, I've just landed back in Rome and I'm homeless. It's not a long walk to the hostel, only a few blocks, but I'm tired and my suitcase and laptop case feel especially heavy. I've never roamed Rome after dark before; though reasonably unafraid, I, in my supershort shorts, am a little more conscious—perhaps only paranoidly—of leering gazes.

At the hostel, I weave through a group of young people smoking on the front step, eye the out-of-order lift wearily, then trudge up a flight of stairs to the check-in desk. A night and breakfast is €35, but I must pay in cash. I leave my things in the office and jog, much unburdened, to a Bancomat machine around the corner. Though decals on the machine state that the cards are accepted, neither my MasterCard nor American Express cards is authorized—suspended for suspected thef, surely, damn my negligence. Exasperated, as a last-ditch effort I try my debit card. I absolutely do not expect this to work as I bank with PC Financial, which exists only in select Canadian provinces, but miraculously it does—and better yet, adds a surcharge of only $3 CAD! So, travel tip: first try your debit in a local machine before paying a huge commission at a cash exchange, because you never know.

Cash in hand, relieved, I check in and head upstairs to my room. There are two single beds on one wall and a set of bunk beds on the opposite. A man sleeps in one of the singles and a dark-haired girl in the bottom bunk. I dump my bags and set out to explore the hostel, not yet quite ready to sleep. I stroll around the lobby, lounge, cafeteria, first room block, admire the artwork on the walls, but there isn't much to entertain me since most guests have retired and I'm not bold enough to fraternize with those who haven't, so I settle in the windowsill in the fourth-floor stairwell. It's open onto a small square courtyard filled mostly by a tin-roofed shed and tall pipes.

Soon a young man comes into the stairwell and strikes a conversation with me. Can you imagine, he didn't want to marry me for citizenship? He speaks with a lovely accent, English or Australian perhaps, though he says he's visiting just from Padova (a town I passed through every time I took the train to Velletri). His name is John. We talk about literature for several minutes, then he heads off to bed. I stay in the window until a security guard shoos me to lock the hallway. I'm still not sleepy, but I have nowhere else to go now but to bed. I see now that John is the final occupant of my room. Carefully I climb the rickety red frame of the bunk beds and stretch out in my clothes.

Pet Peeve #789,263,764:

Guys who say of female growl/scream vocalists, "I wonder how she screams in bed lol."

Yeah, let me burst that bubble for you right now. Like any other chick getting railed. Boring. I mean, unless you ask, I guess, but that might be kind of awkward.

I made a New Year's resolution last night but already I forgot what it was. I'm so pro.

Oh, oh, wait. I remember now. I had decided to make a totally unobtainable resolution and then, of course, not obtain it, you know, so as to fit in with everyone else. So I resolved to grow a penis. Yeah.

Give it away, watch it turn—there's nothing I can do for you.
These are my very last, and don't we all know it.
As chemistry turns into crime, I'm helplessly watching it die.

You were never supposed to be someone who'd get this close.

Show me a way, something frail; give me one reason to break these chains.
I played your very last, all your desires,
but something inside of me broke.
I used to be more than this.

This is not my victory.
Get your sickness away from me.
Accusations in velveteen.
Tear it up, tear it open and lay it beside me.

Together we fall; together we fail.

Drain me from all life inside.
I will hurt you ever so carefully.
We will breathe in unison through an iron lung for the lost things we become.
I'll be your crown of thorns; you'll be my cross to bear.

You hate me so good.