I got to Rome in one piece, which was I was doubtful about, being driven in at remarkable speeds in a car the size of a tuna can. At the Taza d’oro at Fumicino I had my favorite ever airport sandwich, sauteed spinach with garlic and fresh mozarella on focaccia that is so good it’s crazy good, and I ate it between phone calls from my girlfriend Caroline and my girlfriend Monica who kept me company by ringing me up every twenty minutes until I took off. I got on the plane, still in my new purple suede boots, no olive oil in hand for the first time in four years, and now I’m home.

I haven’t really eaten yet in New York because there is a huge bag of leftover Halloween candy above the refrigerator that I can’t seem to forget about.
It happens like sweet and you know it’t not good for you no way no how, but it just keeps pulling you back.

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