we've got candy for everyone

so here's the thing. here is what i want to share with everybody. i want you to wake up in the cute little room i sleep in, in the skinny twin bed. wake up with the cat, stella, purring loudly next to you (since we're in her bed anyways), wake up to see the hard wood floors, the tall beige closet doors with old locks, the black and white photos all over my walls. then we stumble into the bathroom where the lightswitch is quite inconspicuous. we shower without a shower curtain and try to stay warm without getting water all over the place. we sit down to breakfast at 720 am where you turn over your large cappuccino cup into its proper place on its saucer and pour fiocchi (brand of cereal) and a little bit of parzialmente scremato (i think) milk. we also get pear juice. it's like drinking the left over juice from our canned pears, only more pulp and deliciousness. we drink it every morning. then sometimes we can take a piece of fruit and head out to the bus stop. we walk to the end of our driveway with only 10 minutes before the bus comes, but wait, it's only been 5 minutes and number 37 (our bus) is barrelling up the road. we struggle to get our cold hands out of our coat pockets to flag the bus down in time. we say 'buon giorno' to the bus driver and get flown into our seat as he takes off up the hill again. people pile onto the tiny, short, orange bus as we drive to the city walls. today is wednesday so there are many woman going to the wednesday market. finally in the center of the city we all hop off. you and i walk on the cobblestone street with our warm scarf tucked into our mostly buttoned jacket. we walk towards the sun, through the windy streets, passed the Nazione magazine stand, passed via dei rossi, passed the various piazza, passed the mime who paints himself gold every morning, passed the shops, the cafes, the little fruit stands. up the steep narrow street through the duomo arches, and to the museum where we meet roberto's smiling face and he tells us all about his jogging escapades of the night before. i want you to smell the cigarettes, to sheild your eyes from the bright morning sun i face on the busride through the country. to see the people setting up their shops. i want you to be here with me.