Memory Post One Week Four

Walking down the street to Ostello Dante in Ravenna, four men on bikes lurked outside a barred grocery store at 8:30 pm. Four other men, across the street, talk to a woman who reminds me of the mother from Precious. Fifteen Americans, separated at a crossway, wandered through the "hood" of Dante's exile. I'm next to a wall of lilac bushes and I'm five again, in my backyard, chasing the neighbor's beagle against the chain link fence. My mother echoes through the yard, calling for grilled cheese, for nap time, but I don't listen.