Cosmic Grocer Revue

Dave and I vacation in Italy and quickly decide to stay. He takes a job with a produce delivery service whose reputation is akin to that of Mambo Movers in Philly. Which is to say that it's a decidedly masculine profession, but here in a classically Italian way - muscle-bound heroes parade their truck down the market and outside restaurants, chucking the required vegetables directly at their customers. Shopkeepers argue with their daughters about who will go out and catch the vegetables for the day.
It's no surprise to me that Dave has fallen into this comely clique, and with his vintage paperboy wardrobe firmly established he really looks like he should be delivering something.

Today it's raining and I take a little walk in the market to see if i can catch the truck and say hello to my sweetie. Sure enough, they've just all jumped off the truck and there he is in a courtyard, seeming to be looking for something (me, of course). The fine mist shakes its dewy fur all over us as we embrace and scuttle down an alley and into a cafe for lunch.

The menu is complex and varies from 9$ to 51$ lunches - dream foods of course.
We sit in a booth to pour over the menu and delight in our new city. How did we get here anyway? Hey ,do you want to start with mussels?

A series of characters invite themselves to our table - waitresses, madmen. One man shows us his hand-drawn comic book on the subject of the mighty produce vendors, portraying them as leopard skin bikini-clad vintage bodybuilders, arms full of verdure against the backdrop of the solar system. "Cosmic man!" he keeps calling Dave. We all laugh about it and I am so proud that my hot hunky husband is a cosmically hot grocer.

We never get to eating - I'm training to work at the cafe now. A blonde tiger of a young woman is explaining to me the interpersonal dynamics of the cafe. Who's zooming whom, who not to flirt with, whose affairs are openly discussed and whose are still secret (but not from the waitstaff). The guy with the comic book is also a waiter, and as I start realizing that I live in a place where a crazy disshevelled artist can double as a waiter at a mega-fancy cafe, it dawns on me once again that I'm in the right place.