… just to tear it down, and mess it around?
The Italian city that destroys itself:
Here it was – the Catholic guilt. My fear of judgment, which had lain dormant for years since my schoolgirl days, now rose in my throat as I waited for the priest to exit the Church of Santo Gemine and smile down at the flower mosaic of a dove I had helped create at his feet.
But as the doors opened, he instead swung one foot out from under his robe and absentmindedly booted the dove’s feathers across the cobblestones.
The Italian crowd cheered. I swore.
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