It seems like everyone in Florence has some sort of story to tell. The homeless, the hapless, the helpless. And they are all begging for their photos to be taken- a visual aide to their tales.
The people here are tourists and locals, sightseers and philanderers and men and women looking for some sort of break.
The meat, meanwhile, is looking for a cut.
These men were sort of deliciously lazing across from a wine bar- the tenders at which were serving them merrily and without a second thought to charge. They all have stories to tell. And they tell them to each other.
Old meets new. I am partial to both, believe it or not. As much as my heart sings for the ancient world and works- there's something to be said for juxtaposition.
Ponte Santa Trinita at sunset.
This dude at morningtime… sheesh.
My first glimpse of the Duomo resulted in a rather emphatic, overly loud "Holy Shit." It is the third largest church space following Saint Peter's in Rome and Saint Paul's in London. And it's phenomenally stunning- all green, white, and pink granite. All Holier Than Thou.
And then you see the sky and remember that it's not really the building that counts at all...
Ah Firenze. Every time I see that word, I think about Harry Potter- wasn't the centaur called Firenze? Wasn't he?
Gridwork.
Gridwork, part sunshine, part two.
And until next time… Suggestions for gelato flavors?
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