Tour

The rest of the time not-ministry-ing, I apparently did-meet people, for instance two teenage and rich American girls. I did-not think of them as rich. That was not part of the stage-set. "Where do you think you are ?"

I used the Roman public showers, probably at some point in-here, needing-too for why no where else - god only knows. Very cheap and reasonable and a woman gave you a towel, and you walked through some vague large window-blue haze, with individual shower-stall and changing-room, hooks and wooden bench. Poverty was an institution in Europe. They had been around a couple-thousand years, and so-knew that the poor would 'always be with us'. I was particularly impressed that cigarettes could only be bought at specific outlets, but mostly sold by individuals in the street, as either a single or a pack. It gave people jobs, like in Oregon, where only station-hands can pump gas. In America, they are new to the world. Poverty is not a condition of humanity, it is a failing of the pioneer-spirit. Big-business comes to own-everything. It is not them - but you 'died on the cross'. Machines do the jobs of people. Well this monotonous-work is demeaning anyway. Get a degree. We all got-degrees. Who is going to dig the ditch ? Not me. I have a degree-in-degrees.

What sprite-ones they were these two rich girls, invited me to visit them in the evening in their hotel-lobby. We sat on cushioned comfort of rich decorative carpet-over-marble floor, our backs to the street-window, a high ceilinged, not way-large, living-room like lobby, with an old black wrought-iron elevator to our left at the rear; and who should we see sneak-in and scuttle to the elevator, but David Niven and what could only be his wife. He had a wife ?

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