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Italian Lessons
Lake Como languishes under summer sun, streets so narrow side mirrors risk their lives and buses stop traffic lurching back and forth while rounding corners. Cool gelato slides down grateful throats. Ferries crisscross quiescent waters past stately, hidden villas with magazine-ready gardens. We brave torturous cobbles up steep slopes past tiny shops with sometimes dusty windows, Relax with espressos at metal tables in the shade. Bright jersey-ed cyclists with muscled calves fly by as juice runs down my fingers from sweet, prosciutto-wrapped melon. You lick the juice, your smile promising more sweetness yet to come in our fan-cooled, shuttered room.