Roman about...

Ah Roma, you wily and surprising mistress doling out delights at nearly every twist and turn. And yet you have kept hidden until now the true meaning of your bustling metropolis. Try as you might impose misdirection upon us all with your fine food, wine and history,  it has become apparent to me that you are not just the city of love but in fact  the city of the small  car.

Pfft! to conventions of parking normally demanded by traffic bureaucrats around the world. This is Roma we don't do "normale". The hotblooded italians don't give a fig about parking rules, let creativity be applauded. Pedestrian crossing marking of white paint on a road appear to be a runway guide, footpath space, always at a premium, is scoffed at in this city where the small car is a god. Forget Mars and Jupiter, Venus and Cupid. Whilst their static  likeness may adorn many an edifice, these moving representations are far more important.  

Hard to see I know, but these cars are indeed parked and the owners supping in some nearby trattoria.. or so I imagine.