luxurious, sliced in thin leaves and
crumbly little chunks. A man in the main
square stopped traffic by bellowing
in the international language of
insanity. Well-groomed eyebrows
arched in the cafes as lips curved
around afternoon chianti and time
continued to count on the yellow
clock tower. The streets swirl and curve
like patterns in marble, stilettos
click the seconds as impossibly
elegant women march firmly
toward men on motorinos. You
are just glad they allow you to watch.
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