Privilege
We are back living in the old place, where it was only you and me, and the stresses lay against us instead of the typical between.
There is a lot of driving. Sometimes it is snowing and icy, and other time it is autumn. Most of our touring is done in an old white VW bug with an expired inspection sticker.
There are other trips taken on a Vespa, similar to the models we saw advertised one morning. Our scooter, though I think you claimed it to be your own, is wood paneled, with chestnut leather, and gas powered. To get it started you have to tug the braided leather handle of the pull chain. The exhaust explodes with noise and blue tinged smoke. This display is one thing we are in love with.
There are rich and powerful Italians who speed dangerously on the side roads. One of them is your father. He keeps Diago, your cat, locked up in his mansion. Diago speaks to me, though it was only when his head was turned away from my line of sight. It tells me that he had overhead a secret. Diago says, "She is going to get married, you know, but she still wants to see you around the house." He also tells me that her father, Rossello, was going to give me the privilege of borrowing books from the Forbes for her, once or twice a week.
