MILAN "Splish, splosh," the water sings. A lullaby. Rockabye baby.
I jam a hoop earring home. The day dragged: a motorboat, then train from Venice; elaborate lunch; frantic work in the hotel before dinner. Smeared thin, I want only to eat and sleep.
"Pitter pat, pit, swiiissssshhhhh."
Wait. Water in the room?
Sure enough, the ceiling is drooling: a cascade smack beside the unlocked, gaping safe with my laptop, passport and other worldly goods.
All zen, I float towards the phone and dial reception. "Ciao, sono Amanda nella camera X. C'e una problema qui."
Then I loose vocab control and blurt in Italian: "water falls from heaven."
Still, the point telegraphs.