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2003-06-22 We got slow on our toes walking from Biscotti's cutting in front of the lake. The sun resting fully on its bottom while the parking lot was full of old folks in white cars waiting for it to set while avoiding the mosquitos. Cars lined up with their noses to the ledge of the cliff. It was all in timing after a coffee after a long Italian dinner. Everyone drives so slowly around the corners and into the brake pedal. Driving more like ballet than Boston. There is silence instead of the honking that seems to punctuate all the tangles of concrete that seem to want to spell out something urgent yet undecipherable. I hold down my cheers in my throat for the unpretentious because something tells me it wouldn't make sense. |