"There are strange things done 'neath the Sicilian sun"
The patron deity: Chaos (blind -- milky white eyes -- a pair of bellows in each hand [she started with a poker stick in her right hand, but soon realized what they needed was more fuel and less organization]).
Bus from airport to City: typical Italian desolate ex/sub-urbs that always scare the shit out of me.
Fire truck roars by, all fireman have their arms out the window. To turn: all start waving/gesticulating with the arms pointing and screaming out the window: "relax we're professionals".
Homeless man with pet duck who whispers "sweet" nothings (more likely) into ear. Chestnuts roasting on open fire's in the centre of intersections. Xenophobic police officers keep non-Italian knick-knack sellers on their toes.
Crowd gathered round SUV. "Ah, the mafia" I think (thinking of the photo's of Hariri's car in Lebanon). Gawking. Broken window. Someone opens the rear window. A dog. The golden retriever is saved from the sweltering heat. Spontaneous ebullient applause. Exeunt.
"Chaotica" the pharmacia-ist said to me (while buying over priced ear plugs because the blatantly naked old man sleeping on the bed next to me snores loudly). In the morning, while the old man is showering the two Dutch girls in the room and I carefully avoid making any allusion to the strange fact that the naked-old man slept so brazenly... the air holds our questions.
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