“Do you come here often?” Richard asked. “Sì. As often as I can. I don’t live in San Francisco.”
“Where do you live?” “In Cupertino.” Not—“It’s none of your damn business” or “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
but—“In Cupertino.” What is happening to me? “That’s a nice little town.”
“I like it.” Not—“What the hell makes you think it’s a nice little town?” or “What do you know about nice little towns?”
but—“I like it.” He was finished with the painting. “I’m hungry. Can I buy you lunch?”
Cafe De Young has pretty good food.Alette hesitated only a moment.
Va bene. I’d like that.Not—“You look stupid” or “I don’t have lunch with strangers,”
but—“I’d like that.” It was a new, exhilarating experience for Alette.
The lunch was extremely enjoyable and not once did negative thoughts come into Alette’s mind.
They talked about some of the great artists, and Alette told Richard about growing up in Rome. “I’ve never been to Rome,” he said. “Maybe one day.”
And Alette thought, It would be fun to go to Rome with you. As they were finishing their lunch,
Richard saw his roommate across the room and called him over to the table.
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