Reportage Week Four

The piazza de Santa Croce is full of Dante and pigeons. The steps of the museum where Dante isn't buried remains covered in bird poop and granola bars from the Asian tourists that walk by. I watch as the rain scuttles everyone but four Americans into the shops. No one buys anything. A flutter of umbrellas open once the rain stops and a young boy hides under his father's blue poncho. Antialias male with an umbrella and a fedora walks by the steps, an Italian pimp. On his right, a girl about three years older thn me is dressed in suede stilettos and a dress cut mid thigh, hiding through tights. An Italian female companion. Her heals clatter on the cobblestones as she wanders past the Korean tourists who all have the same burgundy hat with the embroidered SOMME. I want to know what it means...but I don't.