Act 2, Scene 12
|Lets get away from Cortona for a bit, shall we?|
If you take the train to Tuoro with the intent of visiting Italy's largest lake, Lake Trasimeno, make sure to head for the door as soon as the train begins to slow. It only stops for a moment, just long enough for you to read the sign and confirm you're where you think you are, before pulling away, forcing the hesitant or sleepy to be dragged to the next stop while the people at the Tuoro station wave at you through the glass. Once the train starts moving again the doors lock to prevent the brave from attempting to jump off anyway. At the next station you'll either have to wait for the next train headed the other way, or do like we did and walk back. If you choose the walk, take the dirt road. It's almost scenic enough to stop you cursing yourself the whole way back.
There is an odd campground
at Lake Trasimeno complete with a bar, two restaurants, and a disco that
looks suspiciously like an old, empty swimming pool. There's a park by
the lake that has some interesting modern sculpture and a beach where
occasionally topless women will sun themselves (and on rare occasions
be worth ogling.) The lake is surrounded by massive agriculture so I assumed
it gets the associated pesticidal runoff. Rumor has it the water is extremely
polluted. The lack of swimmers and boaters seemed to confirm this. Despite
the marvelous Saturday afternoon in the middle of summer, the place was
practically empty. A lake of that size in the states would have been covered
in drunken boaters.
The room had no door and was wall-to-wall windows but Heather
brave and I was feeling bold. How could I resist? Even if Id wanted
to resist Heather was pulling me down onto the table and onto her. The
room was hot and stuffy. I worried that someone might be watching, or
stumble across us, but Heathers moans echoing off the tile drowned
out those thoughts in moments. Soon her dress was around her hips, my
head between her legs. Soon after that her moans reached their peak. I
stood up, smiling ear to ear and ready to screw her silly right there
on the table, or at least get her to return the oral favor. But, in slow
motion just like out of some teen sex comedy, I turned to glance out the
window to see two bicyclists pedaling up to the station.
Sit on my face, and tell me that
you love me.
I'll sit on your face and tell you I love you, too.
I love to hear you moralize,
When I'm between your thighs;
You blow me away!
Sit on my face and let my lips embrace you.
I'll sit on your face and let my love be truly.
Life can be fine if we both sixty-nine,
And we'll sit on our faces in all sorts of places and play,
'Till we're blown away!
Sit on my Face, by Monty Python, of course
One of Heather's roommates
was the second ankle injury in the program. I skipped through the room
singing "Boots, glorious boots..." while she lay helpless in
bed. However, she did expose another Larry, "You must have health
insurance for the trip. You'll have to pay for any hospitalization and
get reimbursed when you return."
We spotted a forest fire on the neighboring hill one afternoon and I found it fascinating to watch the helicopter fly over the land of Leonardo in an attempt to put down the blaze. I pictured him smiling that such a thing existed, no too distant from designs of his own. I watched this from my bike, another creation not too distant from designs of Leonardo. He only lacked the proper materials.
George Bent On Making This
Trip Miserable walked past me today. "Missed you, Fred."
I was jolted awake at 3:30
AM this morning by a moving yet irritating version of "Georgia On
My Mind." Ironically, though I had come from Georgia it was the last
thing on my mind. The Doorman wasnt usually up that late and it
wasn't his staple spaghetti western so I listed further (I couldn't help
but listen as he'd turned up the volume as loud as it would go.) I soon
realized it was the opening ceremonies of the Olympics, an event I'd traveled
thousands of miles to avoid. Yet here I was, in an old monastery in a tiny
town in the backwaters of Italia, with The Games in Atlanta still preventing my sleep.
Georgia, Georgia, the whole day
Just an old sweet song keeps Georgia on my mind.
Georgia, Georgia, a song of you
Comes as sweet and clear as moonlight through the pines.
Other arms reach out to me
Other eyes smile tenderly
Still in peaceful dreams I see
The road leads back to you.
Georgia, Georgia, no peace I find
Just an old sweet song keeps Georgia on my mind.
Melodies bring memories
That linger in my heart
Make me think of Georgia
Why did we ever part?
Some sweet day when blossoms fall
And all the world's a song
I'll go back to Georgia
'Cause that's where I belong
Georgia on My Mind, by Stuart Gorrell and Hoagy Carmichael (if you're like me it's the Ray Charles version in your mind)
Speaking of home, I had a bizarre
nightmare one night. I boarded the plane to Brussels where I was to meet
Lena and continue on to Amsterdam, but when I arrived I was just too tired
to get out of the seat so I let them take me on to Atlanta. I got back
to the apartment and my roommate was mildly surprised to see me. His surprise
made me realize Id done something terribly wrong and I reached down
to feel my pockets, still with enough funds inside to have made it to
Amsterdam but not enough to turn around and get back, much less in time
to catch Lena. "Fuck..."
Heather and I peeked into the rumor mill again - nothing new brewing about us so we made some suggestions to help the stew along. I doubt we dropped hints to the right people but we're getting braver all the time. However, there was lots of gossip on others on our journey. My favorite is of a guy who's complaining about walking in and interrupting his roommate masturbating for the third time. Seems like you'd learn to lock the door after the first time.
Lena called a couple of times but I was never there to take the call. I couldnt confirm when she was coming down and our letters kept crossing en route. As soon as I think I have it right another letter arrives telling me something different.
On our daily bike rides we
got higher and higher up the mountain ridge. We opted to take the fork
in the road where a sign pointed to a public pool and had opted for that
route but it took us weeks to finally get close. We finally got to the
entrance and decided the next day wed return in our bathing suits.
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this site is owned by Degenerate Press and cannot be used without our
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cause trouble (no kidding), so play nice. Copyright © 2002, All
All original content on this site is owned by Degenerate Press and cannot be used without our permission. We have lawyers for friends with nothing better to do than cause trouble (no kidding), so play nice. Copyright © 2002, All Rights Reserved