2 results for 'tuscany'
Dragano is an editor initially from up north. He’s tall and rakish, the wisp of a moustache and sleek brown hair; has the habit of whistling unexpectedly, as he ponders the ways of an unjust world while stroking a precocious black cat. His villa is classic Tuscan, the bricks and terra cotta gables more orange than red. I soak up the sun while a younger woman serves coffee and biscotti, rubs Dragano’s shoulder and returns to the kitchen.
I mention Venice: Dragano’s birthplace and from where I’ve come. “Ah yes, but that was not to be.” He smiles wistfully and his eyes drift off to one... (more)
I awoke that morning in a bed I had been sleeping in for little more than a week. My roommate had already left for the weekend, so I was alone. I took a moment to enjoy the temporary solitude before getting dressed. I made my way out into the common area. One of the other girls who lived on my floor was in the kitchen. She spoke only Italian and even though I was studying the language, I was still far from what you would call fluent.
She offered me a â"cafe italiano" and I graciously accepted. I sat at the table with her, sipping out of my miniature cup, and gazing out the window.... (more)
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