Una cena a Trastevere
A dinner in Trastevere
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It was a evening of September, warm and slow. The streets of Trastevere smelled of bread warm.
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You I wait at eight », said Marco, closing the call. Chiara smiled while herself was getting ready.
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The trattoria was small, with tablecloths at checkered red. The waiter brought two glasses of wine white and a basket of bread.
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So, how is gone the week »? asked Marco. Chiara raised the shoulders: « Long, but now I am here ».
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They ate pecorino and pepper, talking quietly. Outside, a guitar was playing near at the fountain.