I had thought he was dead.
The first time that I had seen the old man he had been sleeping in a chair near a tractor outside my cottage on the hill overlooking Florence.
Such was the busy-ness of my-life-left-behind that I automatically assumed a man sleeping during the day must be dead. Or pretty close to it.
How often do you talk to someone you don’t know? I mean really talk. How often do you sit down and find out what makes them tick; their heartbreaks, habits, humanity?
How often in the daily routine of waking up, consuming breakfast, going to work, coming home, decompressing and sleeping do you talk to someone you’ve never met before? Read More