“Bella! Bella! Europa!”
I was so used to being an “Americana” or a “Bella! Bella!” that I didn’t realize he was calling out to me. I didn’t realize until I sensed that I was the only one on the tenuous street, other than him- the older Italian gentleman. I turned to see him kissing his hands before flourishing them towards me. Once I looked, He proceeded to instruct me in Italian on the art of properly crossing streets and then demonstrated by waltzing through an enjambed trio of cars that I had darted around before he called to me. Illustrating his instructions, he made fluid sweeping motions at the cars, towards himself, towards me, from one side of the street to the other.
“Grazie,” I called out, using the only Italian word I know.
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