I hitched a ride with my sister to her work. It was nice to have this insight to my sister’s life. I know where she works, who she works for, but it was wonderful to put an actual building and faces together with the stories.
I got to visit with a few of her colleagues and stood around the Italian version of the water cooler (which is, you guessed it, a new age espresso vending machine. Just to note, the coffee wasn’t bad but it wasn’t great.) What made the moment special was being able to communicate with her co-workers.
It was a quick train ride from her office to Santa Maria Novella, the main train station in Florence. This ride is quick, five minutes. There is no need to find a seat, I just stand with the other passengers who’ve made this trip so many times they stare down at their phones, bored. The train yard looks tired. Cables sag unceremoniously above our heads. Every wall, building, and abandoned train is tattooed from about chest level to the floor with graffiti: tag signs, art, world views, cries for help…they all mingle in a flood of screaming color. Continue reading