Promises to Her

Mama Gina's

Sometimes people catch my eye.  A person, or a group or perhaps a situation.  This time it was a family of three who were seated near by me in a little restaurant in Florence.  I couldn’t take my eyes of them for some reason.  The body language of the father was screaming a story at me but of course I couldn’t ask.  So instead I invented my own, here is the start:

It was a fine trattoria. A comfortable blend of touristic and authentic. Or perhaps it was just the authentic that tourists had come to expect, but it had been done well.

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