March 9 2009.
Favoloso says, "Can I just say our adventure was just like a dream? It's not the first time...Once I was with my British friend in Italy, and we were walking from the outdoor discotecas in the wee hours, in the rain. She decided she wanted some fish for her bedroom, so when we reached the gelateria, which was near my school, she started stabbing at the fountain in front of it, with her Kermit the frog umbrella, trying to get some gold fish.”
Snoozing on the porch in the sunshine. Woke in an empty room. My pockets were turned out, fishnets ripped, eyelids smudged with kohl.
Walking along the long, long stretch of red hook road, sun blazing, sticking our thumbs out to every car. Need to soak my swollen feet.
- Where did these cigarettes come from?
- You bought them.
- What? No I didn’t.
- You did. We bought them an hour ago.
- But I don’t even smoke Marlboros!
Favoloso says, “Calabria is a region in Italy which was highly underdeveloped all throughout the 20th century, but it's where all the badass head hancho mafiosos live. And it's full of rolling hills,
wheat and hay and kids on bikes and lone apple trees. So in my mind, the image of us walking along the side of the road was kinda like that. Except with big suv's, law-abiding citizens, and perfect roads. Oh well, the sun is always the same! It was Italian sun, we were kissed by it.”
Who drove us there? A man in white in a pick-up truck. …maybe that’s why you whispered your order to the waitress. I want a hamburger and fries. Yes, at 8 in the morning. Build me up. And then let’s wave down the shuttle from the middle of the street and ride all the way home.
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