Big Town Entry

The buses are clogged beyond standing room and every set of traffic lights becomes the starting grid for a Grand Prix race, the verges are broken and the trucks take no prisoners. Lost is the courtesy of the campo roads, it’s every person for themselves. Yet life is good. The Navigator has found her first chiperia.  A man with a gingham clothed wicker basket and standing on the corner calling his wares. After the diet of over-refined, nutrient-deficient white bread, it’s a pleasant chance to get a change, even when that product comes with it’s own dietetic devils; namely a larding of dripping that would lubricate a bike chain.