My negligent self has not posted a few nearly finished articles for lack of time and focus. Work has picked up its pace, and I have thoroughly enjoyed scratching deeply my entrepreneurial itch. It's like poison ivy under a hot shower, every hour well spent.
I am sitting on my balcony overlooking the cupola and piazza of Santo Spirito -- a lone cricket is chirping from the church's terracotta roof. Below the crowd is boiling with laughter and voices rising in English and Italian. I am waiting for someone, who will soon rap on my door, and while my apartment lacks gas, water, electricity, it is washed in candlelight and night breezes, as warm and darkly luminous as wine.
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