Last 2 hours in Trieste. Not a bad city. Most of the caffé workers are friendly, charming, humorous and hardworkers. Although it is easy to be ripped off for anything in this city. If you set the wrong scene or maybe they don’t like foreigners. I think the guy who ran the hotel on Via Ghega thought of English as a form of fascism. Not sure what means but it is interesting.
Loud Italian, louder than your average Italiano, – legea hoody – told forcefully to shush…grasps sports life. And already the dynamic is changed. Caffé excellsion. Should read caffé exclusion, but that brief noise is collapsed to zero.
James Joyce and a speaker of English that surprised my fumblings in her mother tongue. Very attractive who spent time in Florida, but not just eating oranges, I hope. I studied English should read il piccolo or profess io ho studioto. Did he speak fluent Italiano or struggle while undermining sublimely on the grande canal, piazza del point rosso, and the sky was azure as it must always be in Friuli. And even when the locals dislike the wind and say it’s so so cold today. Bonjourno said loud frego fredo not so sure. Prego?
You’re welcome. The pace of life is slower and more people amble to work than rush with head in hands.
I am ready to earn some readies but I think I need a home. James Joyce taught English in Pula. Can I too try this route?
Street sweep has a vacuum cleaner. I think that is the future. Actually if he becomes one with the machine he will feel less pain or the tedium of his reality. The largest floor surface to clear every day and that must deflate an ego.
Same fila clad Afro beggar. So pointless an existence. Looks frightened and seems to have forgotten there is more than a fragile palm with which to place long forgotten lirra.
Smoke smoke tourist bus watches the smokers. The novel character. More often women it seems. Are you a millionaire that scratches so despairingly on columned church and smokes so vigorously.
Another black beggar. They’re giving their culture a bad name. Goes to a customer and shoves pointless brochure. Enough to tell him get a life and stop haunting here.
When the sun comes out it pulses and I sweat. My head leaks.
Converse all-stars are profiting hugely in Trieste it appears. Undulant hoards roaming.
Fire ship on a practice run in the dock arcs of spray like fountains adding water to where no more is required. Now stopped. I thought at first it was an oil spraying black against the bright sunlit canal. Via Gioachino Rossini
Spar and banana, salami, now I am in the square opposite the stazione there is a statue to Elisabetta. Many vagrant and dirty pigeons. Rough looking type asked me to take a photo. Why I could never know. Homosexual tendencies or had an eye on my money? The dirtiness. Why not ask the several other people in the square. Went off to wank himself cross eyed no doubt. This is like an episode from Dubliners I swear. Let me eat my banana in pieces. Oh but saying that how much leaning have I just seen meander through this square. Oh heck I asked for that didn’t I.
Bus stazione destinazione Pirano. A half hour waiting. And I’ve decided the bouncer that held me down may’ve done this damage to my jaw. I suddenly recall him really pinning me down. I wondered how I also damaged my ribs. I fell down. That step. I got a bruised palm and a bruise on my shoulder and a graze on my elbow, but I didn’t tumble…hmm. He was choking me. And he tackled me to the deck. That boy didn’t hit me that hard.