Below the Window

On one of my first evenings in Rome I woke up from a glorious nap and went to open the window. I pulled open the windows, pushed out the shutters and observed the scene below. At any given moment on this particular street one will spot loud Americans wandering past; old men strolling about chatting to each other–always well-dressed; vespas crawling through the crowd; people gazing, drooling at the bakery shop window; numerous women with beautiful hair, perfect makeup, manicures, fashionable outfits, and tall boots, who have no time to stare but march on; at least one dirty dog; street vendors selling useless artifacts such as glow-in-the-dark alarm clocks, bubble guns, cigarette holders, sparkly fedoras. Many many people, going somewhere, or with nowhere to go, all of us Romans.

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