Italy: Part Three Point Five

Donned my new polka-dot suit. AM ferry to village four. Onion foccasia. Bisque saw the boat from afar, said, "We will be on the top level." As in, "We will fight anyone to the death if they try to take the unadulterated sunshine and ship breeze from us."

At Monterossa we had panna cotta cones and shuffled to the beach. We set a fifteen minute timer for Bisque's lily white skin, but he still came out pink.

The ocean was very cold. We waffled about how far we'd wade in, but finally I dunked  and never looked back. Every time I've gone to the ocean I waffle and then dunk and never regret it.

"My brain's a raisin," my lobster guy said re: the tired conversations we were having. Sunsleepy. We had dinner at the same little place. A cheese plate and followed it with real ciocollatta and cream. I ate a dang biscotti, which I had been clamoring about since arriving in Venice.

Italy: Part One

This gull sat on top if St. Mark's square like it owned the place. It doesn't even know who St. Mark was. (Neither do I.)

Nevertheless, on an evening stroll in this same square, we heard a gorgeous orchestra version of "My Heart Will Go On." That morning we tried to have coffee in the first cafe it was sold in Italy. It was a 12 euro fee to sit. I ate a small flower-shaped cookie on the sidewalk and we had lattes around the corner. We caught a boat to the cemetery island to see Stravinsky's grave. Men with roses shove them aggressively at you. I tried very hard to learn the phrase for "I would like" but it escapes me always, so "please" has to do.