I was twenty the first (and so far last) time I landed in Rome. The high point of the day was, so far as I could determine, a bomb threat phoned into Leonardo da Vinci–Fiumicino Airport; this was so long ago that they hadn’t yet glued Leonardo’s name to the signage. And anyway, I was ultimately bound for Ankara, and Pan Am was in a hurry, though not so much that they’d blow off the carabinieri insistent on inspecting the plane.
Rebecca Black was twenty the first time she landed in Rome:
I have a feeling she’ll be back.