La vera Firenze. The melodic conversation of shop keepers as they open their stores in the early a.m. The revving of engines and whirling of a distant ambulance. Putting back the shutters, opening the windows, letting the yellow sunshine streak across the room. Preparing pasta while listening to the soft and sudden rain pattering down onto the cobblestones outside. Craning your neck as you admire the intricate beauty present in every inch of perfectly crafted architecture. Taking refuge in a pasticceria or bar to avoid the feisty Italian following you home. Where the five euro wine from the corner tabacchi is better than the finest drink at home. Men walking arm-in-arm. Baci in abundance. La vera Firenze, unknown to tourists and day-trippers. La vera Firenze, veramente vivente.
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