I recall that during our final afternoon in Locri mom and I stopped into a bakery to pick up desert for everyone coming to dinner that night. Mom mentioned in a whisper that the bakery was a well-known mafia hangout; I couldn’t really tell since a lot of people down here look like mobsters. Besides, I didn’t care because everything looked so good. Like kids in a candy store, mom and I looked at everything and tried to narrow down our selections; ultimately we chose ice cream, a cake and pastries.
Walking back to the car arm in arm, smiles on our faces and laughing about the fact that all the locals seemed to be looking at us, mom stopped turned to me and said “Thank you John”. “No, mom” I said, “thank you”.
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