I Don't Think We're In Pompeii Anymore

The street had no sidewalk. No road signs either. Not that Italian road signs would really help four directionally-challenged American girls who were lost and and just wanted their mommies. Or at least I did.
Our trip to the ancient city of Pompeii started off alright. We spent a few hours wandering around the well-preserved ruins; the city was buried beneath the ash of the Mount Vesuvius explosion in 79AD until it was discovered and subsequently excavated 1,500 years later.
But really, we just came to see the famed ancient brothels. All we wanted to do was stand and giggle in front of ions-old naughty wall paintings.  We traversed that whole dang city looking for said brothels and ended up walking to the very edge of the complex, where we found a bike trail. We decided to walk down the bike trail, because maybe the bike trail would lead to the brothels.
The bike trail did not lead to the brothels. It basically just led to a dusty fork in the path, with the Pompeiian ruins sprawled out on the left, and a dirt road leading away from the city on the right. We had to make an executive decision on which way to turn, and the decision was this: Oh yeah, a 1,500 year old city is cool and all, but this dirt road looks waaay cooler.
The dirt road was not cooler; it was rather hot, and dusty, and lined with glass from broken beer bottles. The occasional car that rolled by would always honk at us, either because a) we were obviously young American girls, and the Italians' favorite pastime is honking at young American girls, or b) we were in the way.  It was often both, so in order to let the car pass by we had to walk sideways with our back to the fence, as if we were scaling the side of a mountain.
About 40 minutes into our walk to nowhere, I started getting that panicky feeling, and thinking things like, "That dog over there lying under that car looks pretty rabid." "Am I less likely to get snatched into a car if I'm walking in the front or the back of my friends?" "That hotbed of Mafia action, Sicily, is just a mere 400 miles and one ferry ride away. So if we just keep walking, WHO knows where we'll end up."
The dirt road, thankfully, did not lead us to Sicily. Rather, it eventually morphed into an overpass that traversed a six-lane highway.

We could deny it no further; we were no longer in Pompeii (unless the Romans were way more advanced than previously thought). 

Because if we were still in Pompeii, it would look like this:

Moral of the story: don't go to brothels.