Tour

What would I have then ? What to say ? I hadn't learned devious entry, the sideways conversation, never direct, hinting of many things, until he takes control with assumptions, because he is the world famous expert, follow me.

On another day, Ginsberg nowhere to be found, I was sitting on those very steps, because it was the only convenience cheap-seat in the house, the cafe chairs all-paid parking. It was the place to view the Piazza, with tourists, the bricked court-yard and imposing church in the backdrop. Or maybe I was imitating Ginsberg, although a huge jump from nobody to somebody. If I were he ? Didn't make sense. If I were what ? There was no what there. There was no way I could be he. I didn't know. But I was sitting there on those steps, where he had been. A lot of people did. She came and sat to my left. She started to talk to me. She took me out to eat, she said for a real pizza, when I told her I didn't care much for the stuff. And we did, a medium-size room, crowded with white table cloths, and the pizza was probably an inch-thick. It was a deep-dish pizza. I didn't like pizza, the American variety with paper-thin brittle-hard crust, a splinter and splash of tomato paste, and a few pieces of sausage becoming so-popular in the US late fifties.

She was Turkish raised in England. She was stuck in Venice without a driver and so here I was. She wanted me to drive her to Turkey. Her car was arriving by boat from England. She needed a driver. For some reason, she couldn't drive. Her name was Epeck.

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