On the lull between textific posts Carmen has seen Italian lunch ladies do their best Gestapo impressions as they questioned his presence in the dining hall. Carmen has taken a number and been very-nearly-kindly aided at a Florentine post office. Carmen has attended a chocolate festival where he ate zero chocolate. Carmen has lifted weights for self betterment two times. Carmen has walked and walked and walked. Carmen has seen penises made of chocolate. Carmen has located a park that can't even be called far from campus that boasts an otherworldly view of Florence, outlying country side, prettiness. Carmen has watched an old couple watch the sunset from a park bench. Carmen has seen an elaborate, topographically integrated fountain. Carmen has seen a shinless panhandler balance his beggar cup on his detached, artificial legs. Carmen has been rained on until his boots were soaked through. Carmen has discovered the outdoor ping pong courts and their overindulgent lighting systems. Carmen has decided that the altered reality of an Italian grocery store deserves its own paragraph.
HOW THINGS ARE NON-PATHMARK IN ITALIAN GROCERY STORES:
You cannot touch and carefully examine a fruit's battle scars, discolorations, disheartening softness without a transparent plastic glove. There are no Pop-Tarts. Frosted Flakes are simply Frosties. Pringles are Pringles. An entire aisle, both sides and maybe more, is pasta. Alcohol requires three aisles. Kit-Kat bars come in packaged bricks of three. Two or more aisles are occupied by brandless cookies known only as biscotti (which translates to cookies). Gypsies patrol both entrance and exit and are very touchy-feely. No express lines. The idea of "express" anything is an abstraction of an abstraction of the physical representation of the word "the," to Italians. YOU HAVE TO PAY FOR THE PLASTIC BAGS.
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