I had a dream last night that I was returning to Italy. I lived there for a semester, twenty years ago. I have often dreamed of being back in Florence, and I always walk down the street, knowing exactly when to turn to get to my favorite pastry shop. I buy the little oval shaped crust with the rice custard, and I can feel it’s texture under my teeth. The sun is warm, but waning, because it’s always Autumn. I can feel the smooth, knobbly cobbles under my feet. No time for shoe shopping. I’m looking for something, trying to get somewhere. Thank goodness I remembered my passport. There are statues everywhere, but not what I’m looking for. I freeze—I have forgotten my camera.

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