The tomb is no sad little grave — it’s basically a two-room death suite. The entry chamber had red plaster walls with a clean white stripe flex (ancient interior design inspo, anyone?), while the main room still had ceramic goods chilling in place: vases, ointment jars, and plates like someone’s eternal dinner party was about to start. Four carved coffin slots lined the south side, meant for funeral cots. Oh, and plot twist: tomb raiders got there first. The archaeologists found signs of ancient break-ins, wall drillings, and even a second burial chamber that was already looted — though it did cough up a Roman coin, proof the site was still in use when Rome was flexing hard. This isn’t Manduria’s first ghostly surprise either. Just last year, 11 rock-cut graves popped up during sewer works in the same street. Basically, the whole neighborhood sits on top of an ancient messapic necropolis — imagine trying to lay new plumbing only to find a lost civilization every other week. Officials say they’ll create a 3D digital model of the chamber tomb so future generations can explore it without, you know, destroying the pipes. Until then, Manduria residents might want to keep an eye on their basements — history down there doesn’t flush easy.