Chapter 11

           

           ThefirstmealIateinRomewasnothingmuch.Justsomehomemadepasta(spaghetticarbonara)withasideorderofsauteedspinachandgarlic.(ThegreatromanticpoetShelleyoncewroteahorrifiedlettertoafriendinEnglandaboutcuisineinItaly:"Youngwomenofrankactuallyeat-youwillneverguesswhat-GARLIC!")Also,Ihadoneartichoke,justtotryit;theRomansareawfullyproudoftheirartichokes.Thentherewasapop-surprisebonussideorderbroughtoverbythewaitressforfree-aservingoffriedzucchiniblossomswithasoftdabofcheeseinthemiddle(preparedsodelicatelythattheblossomsprobablydidn’tevennoticetheyweren’tonthevineanymore).Afterthespaghetti,Itriedtheveal.Oh,andalsoIdrankabottleofhousered,justforme.Andatesomewarmbread,witholiveoilandsalt.Tiramisufordessert.

           Walkinghomeafterthatmeal,around11:00PM,Icouldhearnoisecomingfromoneofthebuildingsonmystreet,somethingthatsoundedlikeaconventionofseven-year-olds-abirthdayparty,maybe?Laughterandscreamingandrunningaround.Iclimbedthestairstomyapartment,laydowninmynewbedandturnedoffthelight.Iwaitedtostartcryingorworrying,sincethat’swhatusuallyhappenedtomewiththelightsoff,butIactuallyfeltOK.Ifeltfine.Ifelttheearlysymptomsofcontentment.

           Mywearybodyaskedmywearymind:"Wasthisallyouneeded,then?"

           Therewasnoresponse.Iwasalreadyfastasleep.

           

Содержание книги
Настройки
Фон страницы
Размер шрифта
Межстрочный интервал
Фразовые глаголы
Показать / Скрыть меню
Шрифт
Roboto Lora
Уведомления
Страница 50 из 515