Sitting in the Piazza Navona, eating outside and watching all the artists convincing the tourists that they were the next Giotto, the cammeriere puts the glass of wine on the table and it wobbles as he doe so. He reaches into his apron a pulls out a matchbook, leans down and squeezes it under one of the legs and and asks me if that works. He taps the corner of the table. "E pur si muove", I say.
He laughs uproariously.
"Chi la detto?"
I hate to say it, though I should have expected it, I am not thinking that he would recognize the phrase , and when he asks me who said it, I freeze for a moment. But fortunately, like a starry messenger out of the night sky, it flashes: "Galileo".
He laughs again and says, with a clap on the back,
"quando hai finito, ti compro un cafe".
A thoroughly delightful meal, out of very little.
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