I spend most of my days in slippers, scuffling across the broken tile in my apartment speaking in soliloquy. I don’t really talk about anything interesting and I bore myself as a companion, in fact, most of the time I…
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I did peak over his shoulder a few times just in case someone with a hockey mask and a machete tried to sneak up behind us.
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I’m boxed inside my office near the Statuto in Florence. The room, well actually the apartment, smells like Ferret piss. My nine week old puppy is sleeping on my feet exhausted from his long morning of trying to cover up…
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There are so many empty moments between coffee cups and cigarette drags, between the filled moments of love and hate. What does any of it matter? I talk to friends who have it all and still they have nothing, and…
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The truth is that I’m scared. Sure, anyone can lose anyone they love at anytime. People change, grow apart, fall in love with someone else, lots of things can happen in a lifetime. But, it’s entirely different to start your life with someone convinced that they are possibly in love with someone else.
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Watching an Italian mother with her child is like watching a hen peck a worm to death. It’s slow, and cruel. Eventually the worm stops wiggling, goes limp and accepts that it’s going to be devoured.
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The first week of school in Florence was over-whelming given the fact that I was jet-lagged and refused to stop wearing high heels despite the cobblestone and my frequent falls. By then, I’d become aquinted with my room-mates, and we…
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“Only in Italy is it prefered to drink yourself retarded in the shadow of a massive cross.”
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