The heavy smell of sulfur wasn’t the only thing hanging in the air that morning in 79 AD. I was standing in the middle of the forum, watched by a crowd of confused Romans in togas, and I knew it was time.
"I was left to my own de-vi-ces," I sang, my voice echoing off the marble pillars. I didn't just sing it; I lived it. I did the little percussion sounds with my tongue— chk-chk, boom —to really set the mood. The heavy smell of sulfur wasn’t the only
The ground shook. A merchant dropped a crate of olives. I didn't blink. I hit the pre-chorus with a vibrato so intense it rivaled the tectonic plates shifting beneath us. " I sang