July 9, 2015
I noticed the sheet, then I spied her.
“Che bella linzuola, Signora!” What beautiful linen!
She took a deep puff of the cigarette and smiled. “It is I who have made it.” Her throat sounded sandy.
“Is that what you do? Make bed linens?”
“Una volta,” she said, with another smile. Once upon a time.
“Not anymore?” (I want one.)
She took another puff. “No, non piu, no more. This is the last one I have.”
And then she agreed to a portrait.
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