ROMA Everyone's eyeing my iPod like it's a chic new explosive they should fear, crave or steal. I simply don't care. My expression is pure new world: "whaddya lookin' at? You want a piece a this?"
No one does. Can't say I blame them. After three days of travel, I'm more bruiser than bella.
I break €50 buying a €5.50 book and grin at the curses. Nobody ever has appropriate change in Italy sometimes clerks still dispense hard candy in lieu of pennies. The trick is shafting someone who won't spit in your espresso cup or curse your unborn children.
Blaring The Hold Steady, I settle in to read Dylan Dog, an Italian graphic novel series about a "investigator of nightmares". Just for extra yucks, author Tizano Sclavi made the protagonist British, vegetarian and sober with Groucho Marx for an assistant. Nonetheless, he pulls with Captain Kirkian regularity...
Yes, I have the reading ability and sensibility of a 14-year-old Italian boy.
No, I'm not proud. But if I meet a vampire or zombie, I can smackdown slangstyle. And, from the looks I'm gathering at Fiumicino airport, that's seeming more and more likely...