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We develop a routine. Because I am still dealing with health issues that began in England, we don’t do anything that could really make me more sick than I am. I don’t eat as much gelato or pasta as I’d like to and I only take sips of his wine even though I’d like to have a large glass all to myself at every meal. Instead, we wander. Out the door of our second floor apartment we slip, locking the door with the strangest key I’ve ever held, and moving from the luminous light of our temporary home into the strange gloom of our stairway down to the heavy front door that spits us into an intersection where our preferred coffee shop awaits us. I’ve decided Kamit Express is my favorite coffee shop I have ever been to as we sit and drink a cappuccino that needs no sugar. This has never happened to me, this void of a need for sweetener. I smile, and Danté is smiling too. Out that door too we slip, after we’ve finished our simple breakfast and exchanged pleasantries with Alessia in our limited Italian. Her smile is a wonderful accompaniment to our morning routine.


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