Its 7:08 am, Eye-talian time. I just woke up and looked out the window. Florence in the morning looks like a painting. The foreground is in complete shadow; save fore some orange and white highlights from houses and street lamps, with the occasional red tail light from a car. And the morning sky dominates the top third of the composition. It gradually goes from a pale teal to a light shade of blueberry. Over top of the sky is a few trees in shadow. Funny, to this old Florida boy, their leafless branches look like coral.
Ok, enough with the romantics. *Wipes crusties from the corners of his eyes* *Cracks neck* *Turns on Warren Zevon*
I flew in last night, from Paris, with my mother. After a smooth hour and 43 minute flight on one of those planes you see in movies that have VCR copies, (you know, one of those small planes you board on the tarmac with the stairs) we touched down in Florence. We got off on the tarmac and took a bus to the baggage claim... a whole 10 feet. Air France didnt loose our bags, thank God, and off we went to get picked up by Charles. (Charles is the head of the school)
Five minutes passed... no Charles... seven minutes... 12... Now my mom is staring at me with her hand on her hip and lips pressed down together. She aint happy.
"Wheres Charles Matthew?" She calls me my Christian name when I done did bad. So I give her the old shoulder shrug and called up Charles. After a few tries, I got ol Chuck and found out the 'wonderful' news. He thought that we were coming on the 24th. (It was the 23rd, the 24th was tomorrow night) So me ma and I took a short guilt ridden cab ride to her hotel. Charles, a well fed Tim Burton looking fellow, met us in the lobby. He stood about six foot or so, long black coat and a scarf keeping his neck warm. He gave us the run down about the schedule for the week: Tomorrow = Move in, Next Few Days = paper work, Monday = Classes start at 9 am. (Oh great... not a morning person. C'est la vie) He gave me my move in packet with my apartment's keys and bid us adieu.
We got to the room, but couldnt sleep cause we napped on the plane. So I didnt pass out till round two or so. Filled that in between time with Facebooking, Twitter, and Youtube Videos of puppies and the Craig Ferguson show. (My mom was dying to hear some American TV)
Its now 7:49 am, Eye-talian time. The Florentine morning landscape has been touched up. No longer is the foreground masked in shadow. The sky is now a consistent Mother Mary blue, with the occasional blotch of pastel yellow and baby rose pink. Those coral reef trees are now a tint of sea green and bark brown. And out from undercover of the night are trees with leaves. Their leaf full branches ring a verdant green. I can hear the sound of morning traffic. Buses slowing down, hydraulics releasing, then starting up again. The motors of small European cars and scooter hum by my window.
Now that the sun has risen, its time to greet the day; one crudely pronounced Italian word at a time. In the best Aldo Raine (Brad Pitt in Inglorious Bastards) voice I can do, 'Bon Jour No.'
(Written but not Read)