Italian pressure

middle-age American living in New Jersey near the Lincoln Tunnel «« One of the reasons blogging lives is how intimate moments are entertaining. Even people who think their life is boring have engaging stories for sisters, brothers, and close friends. I know this and I have a history of telling stories people find entertaining, and I have a history of soiled relationships, and I know the two are connected, but I can’t reconcile the detail of the connection. Alas the dawn of blogging, I can tell the intimate stories of my life, and people voluntarily show interest. Not interested, because I’m drunk with my listener trapped in a cocktail corner, but interested in the way I get their attention when an near-effortless click takes their attention away. At La Gran Via Jasleen who started and left quickly asked a lot of questions even bridging the gap between our languages, and she probed at Hana’s ethnicity. The rest of the bakery learned Hana traces her roots to Japan though some are likely to have missed it and still think China. In Italy nothing about Hana seems Japanese even when she’s with her brother. In Italy she’s all Italian, and with me she’s Italian with only traces of Japanese. I return to the barrio — nobody knows much about Hana. Like today she wears black with a rotating collection of high-priced sunglasses. On my best behavior I would have been watching for Hana as she passes La Gran Via, so we could go together to the bus stop, but Hana positioned herself behind me at the counter as I was trying to communicate, “bocadita de pasta” that wasn’t being heard as a collection of noises by Ides. I felt a hush over the panaderia as if they knew I was in trouble. They all seemed think I hope the tall American flapping his mouth with Ides gets the message soon, because he’s gotta go. Few . . . “cancellar bocadito de pasta” I told Ides, and off I went with Hana to the bus stop returning in a flash with Hana in the capable hands of the kind people of NJT. I repositioned myself at the counter and began reading with Marta, “rapido Tomas”. The sentiment of the moment seems all was okay with the women of La Gran Via that my wife’s NYC pressure came first and my bocadito de pasta followed appropriately behind. BTW lesson from Professora Ides: it’s bocadito de pasta »» about me 302-990-2346 contact us


About Tom Doody

middle-age American living in New Jersey near the Lincoln Tunnel
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