Check Sky, Still Blue
Wake 7.30, open doors to balcony, check the sky.... still blue. Quick shower, throw on Armani, grab crash helmet... step out into still blue. Cappuccino, cornetto in bar downstairs (not the icecream kind but the sugary croissant type), quick glance at papers, pretend to read Italian. Dig out loose Lire (pronounced leer-ray) by the thousands and pay owner of said establishment, remembering to take receipt just in case the tax inspectors decide to raid that morning to test that everyone is keeping them employed with excess bureaucracy. Exit and jump in nearest steamy pile, kindly left by the community’s four legged all-night poo delivery service, probably more bureaucracy involved in order to keep the city's population of dogs and their owners suitably employed. Spend next four gagging minutes scraping shoes on curb and using discarded lollipop stick, notice all dog owners suddenly crossing to opposite side of street. On scooter and buzz off down the street ea...
