Ho vissuto in Firenze otto anni fa.

The other day on the subway, before witnessing the most ridiculous argument in the world between two grown men who were angry because they had the audacity to look at each other:

(“Yo, why are you looking at me?”
“I’m not looking at you.”
“You’re looking at me, I see you looking at me.”
“No, man, I’m just looking toward you.”
“Well, stop looking at me.”
“I told you I’m not looking at you, I’m looking towards you.”
“Stop looking towards me.”
“You’re still fucking looking at me.”
“I’m not looking at you.”

I had the pleasure of meeting and speaking with an Italian family visiting from Sardinia. Man, I was wishing I’d kept up with all that Italian I learned while studying there back in January ’00. They were trying to figure out how many stops until Times Square and I was able to say, “three stops” in Italian but that was the extent of it. Once they saw I knew some Italian we were like best friends in this cold, cold world known as New York City, and he didn’t care that I had no idea what the hell I was saying. I pretended the word, “um” was Italian for “you’re beautiful.”

We had a lovely conversation about how much like New York Milan is and how terrible 9/11 was. And then he got off at Times Square and I decided that after I’m done being an art teacher, I am going to become a linguist so I can talk to interesting people on the subway and feel cool because I know The Code.


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