It was the night train. Boarded in Geneva after sunset and pulled into Rome at sunrise.
Chuck, chuck – chuck, chuck through Lombardia.
Rolled from side to side on the top bunk that night. At one point, I awoke to the sound of Italian immigration officers shouting and beating on the paper-thin door of the couchette. Couchette, that’s a fancy word isn’t it? Go ahead – use it three times tomorrow. Here’s one you can try “did Francis leave his pipe in the couchette?”
“Passaporto!” Read the rest of this entry »
Warning: if you have a weak stomach, uneasiness about feline excrement or if you are easily offended by some of the milder curse words in the English language, I suggest you don’t read on.
One man said: “the nicest part about that house is the attic.” Read the rest of this entry »
Some time has passed since the final chapter of Gypsy Summer. As the winds begin to turn and Fall prepares its inevitable decent, I reflect fondly on the unmoored atmosphere and unforgettable events of summer’s past. Things such as… Read the rest of this entry »