A Little Story
In Rome, on any given day of the week when Italians have an extra marital fling, they call it “una storia” – a story. Nothing major. Not grounds for separation, home wrecker, I’m gonna divorce you and take you to the cleaners. Just a story. “I tell you, it’s a shame you’re blind,” I say to the woman beside me, “because I’m gorgeous and well, I think you’re missing out.” She laughs. I lift my head and smile at the guy sitting opposite. “And that guy’s gorgeous too,” I say winking. “He wants to come over and join our party. Come on over, that’s it. I’m Ros and what’s your name? Pete? Hi Pete. And this is… Mirabelle. Mirabelle? Wow, I was not expecting that.” Pete laughs. His shoulders move up and down. He can’t hide his nature. Powerful shoulders. The scent of shower gel rising. He catches the eye of a woman passing by. She smiles and sits down at the nearest free seat. Mirabelle taps her cane. ...