Italy Stories - The Patron of Caffe' Roma (Part 3)

Mike laughed out loud as he paid for coffee while the woman checked her iPhone. He knew this day started off as none had before and he wondered where this might lead. Would her husband show up like the one in Ft Worth who sidled up next to him in a restaurant booth while he sat chatting with the man's wife?

Mike played that one very cool and made the guy seem foolish for his accusatory behavior. Mike slept with the man's wife only two days later and while he enjoyed the drama of the chase he had little regard for the awkward sex. She visited him again some months later and the sex was even worse. He knew he would never see her again after that. Mike found out a few weeks later that the girl's husband had hung himself in the bedroom when she went to work and their baby was asleep in the other room. The toddler found her father strung up and thought it was a game. When the mom came home, the 29 month old said "Daddy's not here anymore." Mike only knew this because the girl called him hoping for a little solace; Mike had none to offer.

Mike brushed aside the morbid thoughts of death and the like because today's woman was different. She was tall, cocky, and clearly much more discreet than her dramatic entrance to Caffe' Roma would suggest. He knew that if he found some way into her for the day she would be happy for at least a moment in time. Mike was addicted to giving joy. He had little more than a few dollars to his name, ate sparingly for his age, and yet the allure of this chase in particular reminded him of days long since passed.

Woman - are you coming? I have to be somewhere

Mike - yes, the fucking ATM (mocking her delivery)

Woman - can we please get on with this?

Mike - why the rush, you seemed so content to chill and talk and suddenly you have to be somewhere?

The woman went out the door without saying another word and began in the opposite direction of the Bancomat. Mike walked after her turned her gently by the shoulder and led her through the maze of market vendors. The smell of mussels, sea-air, and sun-dried fish guts was already oppressive in the August heat. The sun was intense in the summer mornings and almost always gave way to cooling breezes by evening. Mike could not help but think he would love to have his way with this woman along an olive tree-strewn veranda while the wind brushed against the old Italian linen curtains. He knew it was not a likely scenario but the thought distracted him and he slipped on the drying body of an octopus, and fell right on his hands and knees.

Woman - ouch! shit are you OK?

Vendor - attenzione signore il terreno e bagnato (under his breath) cretino straniero...

Mike - no shit man..fucking octopus...aaagh my fucking knee

Woman - do you need help? I have no idea how to help you. should I call 911?

Mike - that won't do anything for you here

Woman - i have some wet wipes

Mike - yeah...that might help..I have a little road rash

Mike got to his feet and noticed his hands were also scraped and smelled of rotting sea flesh. Mike stumbled over to a concrete bench near the nut and olive vendor. In the stinging pain of wet-wipe alcohol across his hand he could not help but notice that the quality of the olives had really diminished over the years and that the olive vendor must have been wearing the same white wife-beater for the past two weeks. There were cigarette burns, coffee stains, and nut dust all over the shirt, yet he had one of the busiest stalls at the market. I guess everyone in Puglia needs nuts and olives and filthy shirt or not, this was their guy.

Mike suddenly realized the woman was actually examining his knees. Mike rarely wore shorts and on this day he had hoped to go for a long walk along the sea and shorts were the way to go. Now his bare knees were dripping a little blood and covered in a lot of black road scum. The woman was diligently tending to the blood and dirt and at that point Mike knew she was actually a good mother.

In the moment when he became the victim and not the guide she became the mom. Mike liked this and began to like her. He had really kind of loathed her in the shop and at the same time he felt compelled to dig deeper. Now she was digging squid remnants from his knee and something was different.

After 10 minutes of silence Mike looked at the woman and they moved on. There was just enough shift in the universe to bring the world to a stop and now there was something easier in all of this than before.

They made it to the ATM after a few extra limping minutes and the woman once again bent down to look at Mike's wounds.

Woman - I think you'll live

MIke - how much time do I have?

Woman - to live?

Mike - to take you with me to the sea

Woman - I think my plans just canceled

Mike - would you like some new ones?

Woman - are you asking me on a date?

Mike - I am asking you to the sea...it is much better than a date

Woman - well then, had you been asking me on a date I would have declined but since it is better, sign me up

Mike - I think we need a car

Woman - I have one of those

The two walked back to Caffe Roma where the woman's car was parked along a playground curb in an emergency vehicle space. There was a white strip of paper flapping in the wind under the windshield wiper of her black Audi A5.

Mike - looks like you got a ticket...I am impressed that the cops were working in this sun

Woman - very fucking funny, just my goddamned luck

Mike - from the looks of your car 15 euro won't set you back too much

Woman - whatever, just deal with it for me please

Mike - I'm your boy

Woman - (obviously hurt) please don't say that

Mike - I'm sorry did not mean to be course

Woman - just the way you said boy reminded me of something I don't want to be reminded of

Mike - (putting the ticket in his pocket) hmmm, you are parked illegally, but I don't see any tickets...nice one. You are truly embracing the Southern Italian spirit

Woman - civil disobedience?

Mike - more like lazy and careless ignorance...traits I try to employ in my own life (smile)

Woman - are we going to the sea or what? I have been here 4 days and have not seen the Mediterranean

Mike - well you won't see it today either

Woman - what?

Mike - this is the Adriatic Sea

Woman - call it whatever you want. It is the Mediterranean to me. Mediterranean diet, Mediterranean people, Mediterranean sea...

Mike - I think I see a ticket on your window

Woman - shut the fuck up and tell me where to go

...to be continued

Italy Stories - The Patron of Caffe' Roma (Part 3)

Mike laughed out loud as he paid for coffee while the woman checked her iPhone. He knew this day started off as none had before and he wondered where this might lead. Would her husband show up like the one in Ft Worth who sidled up next to him in a restaurant booth while he sat chatting with the man's wife?

Mike played that one very cool and made the guy seem foolish for his accusatory behavior. Mike slept with the man's wife only two days later and while he enjoyed the drama of the chase he had little regard for the awkward sex. She visited him again some months later and the sex was even worse. He knew he would never see her again after that. Mike found out a few weeks later that the girl's husband had hung himself in the bedroom when she went to work and their baby was asleep in the other room. The toddler found her father strung up and thought it was a game. When the mom came home, the 29 month old said "Daddy's not here anymore." Mike only knew this because the girl called him hoping for a little solace; Mike had none to offer.

Mike brushed aside the morbid thoughts of death and the like because today's woman was different. She was tall, cocky, and clearly much more discreet than her dramatic entrance to Caffe' Roma would suggest. He knew that if he found some way into her for the day she would be happy for at least a moment in time. Mike was addicted to giving joy. He had little more than a few dollars to his name, ate sparingly for his age, and yet the allure of this chase in particular reminded him of days long since passed.

Woman - are you coming? I have to be somewhere

Mike - yes, the fucking ATM (mocking her delivery)

Woman - can we please get on with this?

Mike - why the rush, you seemed so content to chill and talk and suddenly you have to be somewhere?

The woman went out the door without saying another word and began in the opposite direction of the Bancomat. Mike walked after her turned her gently by the shoulder and led her through the maze of market vendors. The smell of mussels, sea-air, and sun-dried fish guts was already oppressive in the August heat. The sun was intense in the summer mornings and almost always gave way to cooling breezes by evening. Mike could not help but think he would love to have his way with this woman along an olive tree-strewn veranda while the wind brushed against the old Italian linen curtains. He knew it was not a likely scenario but the thought distracted him and he slipped on the drying body of an octopus, and fell right on his hands and knees.

Woman - ouch! shit are you OK?

Vendor - attenzione signore il terreno e bagnato (under his breath) cretino straniero...

Mike - no shit man..fucking octopus...aaagh my fucking knee

Woman - do you need help? I have no idea how to help you. should I call 911?

Mike - that won't do anything for you here

Woman - i have some wet wipes

Mike - yeah...that might help..I have a little road rash

Mike got to his feet and noticed his hands were also scraped and smelled of rotting sea flesh. Mike stumbled over to a concrete bench near the nut and olive vendor. In the stinging pain of wet-wipe alcohol across his hand he could not help but notice that the quality of the olives had really diminished over the years and that the olive vendor must have been wearing the same white wife-beater for the past two weeks. There were cigarette burns, coffee stains, and nut dust all over the shirt, yet he had one of the busiest stalls at the market. I guess everyone in Puglia needs nuts and olives and filthy shirt or not, this was their guy.

Mike suddenly realized the woman was actually examining his knees. Mike rarely wore shorts and on this day he had hoped to go for a long walk along the sea and shorts were the way to go. Now his bare knees were dripping a little blood and covered in a lot of black road scum. The woman was diligently tending to the blood and dirt and at that point Mike knew she was actually a good mother.

In the moment when he became the victim and not the guide she became the mom. Mike liked this and began to like her. He had really kind of loathed her in the shop and at the same time he felt compelled to dig deeper. Now she was digging squid remnants from his knee and something was different.

After 10 minutes of silence Mike looked at the woman and they moved on. There was just enough shift in the universe to bring the world to a stop and now there was something easier in all of this than before.

They made it to the ATM after a few extra limping minutes and the woman once again bent down to look at Mike's wounds.

Woman - I think you'll live

MIke - how much time do I have?

Woman - to live?

Mike - to take you with me to the sea

Woman - I think my plans just canceled

Mike - would you like some new ones?

Woman - are you asking me on a date?

Mike - I am asking you to the sea...it is much better than a date

Woman - well then, had you been asking me on a date I would have declined but since it is better, sign me up

Mike - I think we need a car

Woman - I have one of those

The two walked back to Caffe Roma where the woman's car was parked along a playground curb in an emergency vehicle space. There was a white strip of paper flapping in the wind under the windshield wiper of her black Audi A5.

Mike - looks like you got a ticket...I am impressed that the cops were working in this sun

Woman - very fucking funny, just my goddamned luck

Mike - from the looks of your car 15 euro won't set you back too much

Woman - whatever, just deal with it for me please

Mike - I'm your boy

Woman - (obviously hurt) please don't say that

Mike - I'm sorry did not mean to be course

Woman - just the way you said boy reminded me of something I don't want to be reminded of

Mike - (putting the ticket in his pocket) hmmm, you are parked illegally, but I don't see any tickets...nice one. You are truly embracing the Southern Italian spirit

Woman - civil disobedience?

Mike - more like lazy and careless ignorance...traits I try to employ in my own life (smile)

Woman - are we going to the sea or what? I have been here 4 days and have not seen the Mediterranean

Mike - well you won't see it today either

Woman - what?

Mike - this is the Adriatic Sea

Woman - call it whatever you want. It is the Mediterranean to me. Mediterranean diet, Mediterranean people, Mediterranean sea...

Mike - I think I see a ticket on your window

Woman - shut the fuck up and tell me where to go

...to be continued

Haiku Sunday - Wintry Visions

Stopping to think before
he snapped a final shot of the
place where he still lives.

The lazy girls talked
at length while stirring the cups
of their past short joy

The razor sharp wit
employed by the Cuban made the
chef feel like a slave

Two dollar well drinks
could not hide the beauty of
her ascending voice

This clown wrote all these poems
on his iPad because his
computers suck ass

Rolling out of a
Barnes and Noble he was struck
by the urge to shoot

Top 25 Italy Moments #17 - The Sunglass Hustle

In 1992 I was living and studying in Rome. In the first 5 weeks of the semester I  made the transformation from T-Shirt American to far cooler than most people wannabe-Italian. I had all the pieces to the puzzle except the right sunglasses. I sported an old pair of Wayfarers which did not serve me well in disguising my already difficult to disguise pale 6'5" American frame.

I had been eyeing these amazing POLICE brand sunglasses in a shop near The Spanish Steps which were 95,000 Lira, roughly 80 bucks. This was an enormous amount of money for a kid that had $1200 to live on for the entire semester. I needed to raise funds and had no idea how to do it.

In our 6th week or so in Rome we took a 10 day trip to Greece as a class. I was a about a 6 or 7 cig per evening smoker at the time and when I saw the killer prices on cigs in the duty-free shop on the ferry I had to stock up for the rest of the semester. I was even more amazed when I saw CHESTERFIELD cigarettes were $15 for 3 cartons of smokes. $15?! CHESTERFIELD was the brand my late grandfather had smoked and rather than think of it morbidly as a contributor to his untimely passing, I considered CHESTERFIELD smoking to be an homage to a great man, and I quickly purchased them.

It turns out I kind of hated the way the CHESTERFIELDS tasted so I cut way back on my smoking. I was never a day smoker and cutting back at night meant I developed quite a surplus.

Imagine my surprise when we returned to Italy and there was a cigarette strike. Italians will strike for anything at any time. There never seems to be rhyme or reason to the greatest of all Italian inefficiencies: lo sciopero. Train strikes, bus strikes, airline strikes, and various other public service nuisances paled in comparison to the great cigarette strike of '92.

Within a few days of our return from Greece, the unsavvy and the unprepared UD students as well as 56 million Italians were out of cigarettes. African vendors normally scratching and clawing to sell trinkets while deftly avoiding the cops were selling $10 a pack smokes to crowds 4 deep on the streets. Cops would cut the line looking like they were going to bust the cunning tribesmen of Cameroon only to walk away with a smug look and a pack or two of counterfeit Marlboros.

On campus there was widespread panic among the addicted. Kids were worried they were going to have to sell their Eurail passes to get nicotine. People were phoning home claiming to have been mugged so mom and dad would send an extra $300 for extorted cigs. Where my classmates saw need, I saw opportunity.

I had 27 packs of CHESTERFIELDs and I knew there was no way I would smoke them all. I allotted myself 7 packs for the remainder of the semester, which would give me 3 smokes a day and I put the remaining 20 packs up for sale at $5 a pack. My classmates decried me as a usurer and a shyster yet they happily paid my discounted price compared to the street vendors. Marlboros may have been the brand of choice, but in late October 1992 the world was smoking CHESTERFIELDs.

I knew my grandfather would not have been proud of me as I slid the sexy new POLICE sunglasses onto my face for the first time and strolled out into the piazza to preen about like the locals. I knew he would have wanted me to have given my classmates those smokes at my cost so that they would not have had to fork our their travel money for a nasty vice. I knew all of this, but boy did I look good.

Italy Stories - The Patron of Caffe' Roma (Part 2)

(a moment of silence broken by shouts from Pasquale the vegetable dealer- "dovete assagiare dovete assiagiare Dai! Dai!")

Woman - Does that guy ever stop shouting?

Mike - He is selling his veggies and he is a local icon

Woman - Look, this isn't Rome or Florence. There are not hundreds of new people everyday coming to this guy's market. Everyone here knows him. Surely that old bag (pointing to a bent-over woman of about 75) does not need to be swayed by Pascal there to buy some greens for her fucking pasta tonight.

Mike - Didn't you need to find an ATM?

Woman - Did I offend you? Are you attached to the little provincial people of this board game?

Mike - You just looked like you needed a little help and I always want people to like it here.

Woman - What are you some kind of salesperson for Apulia?

Mike - In a former life (laughing to himself a bit)...there is a Deutsche Bank less than 5 minutes walk from here, why don't I take you?

Woman - Wow, for some lover of Italian culture you sure know how to rush a girl through her coffee.

Mike - Oh, would you prefer to sit a minute longer?

Woman - I would prefer to shoot my goddamned husband in the face and blame the murder on my maid's free swinging son.

Mike - (realizing this was not going to be easy) Is your husband here?

Woman - No he is at the villa out in the country.

Mike - Is the maid here?

Woman - No genius, that's why WE are here.

Mike - so you could get your family away from the situation?

Woman - You are a sharp one huh?

Mike - Why don't you just fire the maid?

Woman - so I can clean our fucking ridiculous house? seriously?

Mike - sure you don't want a pastry? (woman shakes head no) how about another cappuccino?

Woman - how about that grappa?

Mike - seriously?

Woman - (to the server behind the gelato counter while holding up 2 fingers) dos grappas por favor!

The server looked puzzled and the woman said louder this time "two grappas...grappa please!)

Mike - you do know that was Spanish?

Woman - You do know I could give a fuck?

The server brought over 2 glasses and a bottle of grappa as Mike nodded in approval. The Caffe' Roma had an excellent selection of grappa and amaro and while Mike was typically opposed to alcohol before 5PM it was easy to see that for a writer he would never be able to make a character up like this woman and he figured he should stay for a bit and see where this goes.

In the back of Mike's head he assumed the woman was lying about everything. He imagined the poor husband at the villa playing pool games with the kids and supporting the maid and her family with a home, cars, and even scholarships to college.

Mike pictured this lady as likely losing her shit when she found out about her husbands philanthropy and that she probably went to Neiman Marcus and got herself a Chanel handbag to hide her prescriptions and a Kate Spade wallet to hide the funds she had pilfered from the IRA. Mike knew that she had an uncanny ability to lie even though he had never seen or known anyone like her before. There is just something about a liar that makes breakfast much more satisfying he thought, as he toasted her and splashed the first angry fumes of pure alcohol across his tongue.

Woman - woooh! Lord Jesus take my soul! This shit is awful!

Mike - It grows on you

Woman -  How? How could this grow on anyone? It must melt your taste buds so that eventually it is the only thing you can taste. Life as I know it would cease if this grew on me.

Mike - Huh, you are kind of funny

Woman - Now you are going to come on to me?

Mike was stopped in his tracks. It was true he was intending to come on to her. He had to. There was nothing in this bar aside from an earthquake or a shooting that would change his intentions. However, he was not prepared for her honesty

Woman - confident man living in Italy, what are you, some kind of writer?

Mike - actually, I make grappa

Woman - maybe you shouldn't have quit your day job

Mike - What do you do?

Woman - what does it look like I do?

Mike - very little

Woman - you asshole, you make me drink this and I am telling you my sad story and you say something like that

Mike - what if I said you reminded me of a girl I always hated but could never get out of my mind?

Woman - I would ask if she did very little

Mike - another shot?

Woman - only if we can get away from the shouting asshole afterwards

Mike - don't you have somewhere to be?

Woman - yeah, the fucking ATM... remember!

Mike smiled to himself and gave her a wink (in a very corny way) before calling the server over by holding up his empty grappa glass and saying "un'altro volta signore"

Woman - what does that mean?

Mike - literally, one more time

Woman - if only..

Mike - in Italian that is magari

Woman - what is?

Mike - if only

Woman - if only what?

Mike - magari means "if only"

Woman - ok, but I am only staying here for 1 more drink; then I am leaving.

Mike - magari

Woman - you asshole......(to be continued)