Day 17

I wrote this as I was hanging out of the dining room window on Day 17.

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Hanging outside of this 9th floor window of an Apt. constructed & visited by Mussolini.

I attempt to comprehend this Re Di Roma family. These Amerikanis plus Miss English who has joined us to form this living alliance.

I fell asleep on the red couch with my stand in brother a night ago. It's funny how quick connections equal ease when your away from the streets that steadily report the past.

Aleshia Dixon is singing through the tube -- "Give it to me right or don't give it to me at all." She's right.

In some cases wanting maybe more electrifying then having -- Tapping into such energies -- Such happy cripplings of the rational minds.

The seagulls fly here at night. They're white breasts are mobile stars that can shit on your bare feet. I'd know.

I'd like to teach these roommates how to play canasta. But I fear silly Italy won't go for it. I've observed this country turn on mute when change comes on. There are no 3 a.m. burritos, or not sharing pad Thai with lovers as they watch with expectant eyes.

Shall I end this trip now? Nah I think not -- Albeit, it may be time to move on