mood: do not step here
florence reminds me of rain & ice-cream & kindergarden stitching in candy-coloured leather. sparrows are singing and sunlight illuminates the undersides of all the olive leaves. a man sits at the corner, waiting for someone to buy palm-woven creatures but everyone walks by, everyone turns left. old women wear out gradual smiles and stockings pool around their knotted ankles. the grandfathers all ride vespas. up on the hill, san miniato al monte is a ghostly cardboard cut-out (i half expect puppets to appear from behind its ancient marble walls). i am almost hit by a bicycle when our alley is dead-ended by a duomo that is one hundred times its photographs. we picnic in playground structures, eating pineapple gelato for lunch & fresh truffles for dinner. a city's worth of yellow buildings wash the two-hours-to-midnight sky a rich, inescapable cobalt.
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