Junkyard Quote Three Week Five

Florence Hostels are full of nonworking locks and British teenagers. Florence itself is full of pizza, pigeons and Americans. Dante gets thrown in there somewhere, along with Irish pubs and construction from the corner. Our room opens to a balcony, where we drain a bottle of wine into our mouth holes, some pregaming for that night, I'm trying to sleep. There's a set of loft stairs missing a transition step, you lunge from first to third. The space-filled with injury and fear. Fear of the thoughts from Taken and Hostel when I'm left in the room by myself. My company: three beds and a door that doesn't lock.