The couple in front of me interlaces their fingers and smile sidelong at each other while walking down Via Mercato. I smell the man in the pork food truck slicing sandwiches for the passerby's and I wish I had three euro. Stopping for gelato, the couple sits down and eats the wafer from the top out of each other’s cups and I imagine Paolo and Francesca reading about love and Lancelot, while burning in the eternal fire of nothingness. Spoleto isn’t there yet.
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