The famous parade is to be seen, I think. I am still not sure the reason why to walk up and down these two streets that takes me about 20 minutes to walk it all. We usually go there, when we need to buy something. The shop for this day is Coin, a tiny version of Nordstrom. Marco needs a winter coat, and I need warm sleepers in order to survive the cold house we live in.
The shop is packed! Marco says, it is good to see people shopping. Good for the economy. He checks everyday the Italian index. I say nothing. We had a busy morning of taking advantage that the sun was out. Which for me, it meant doing laundry, and to hang it outside before it rains again. Marco worked in the garden collecting branches and leaves that covered our patio. I continue to browse stuff while singing in low voice, one of the Christmas' song from the soundtrack Love actually that is being played in the shop. Finally, we get our stuff. We go on line waiting for our turn. There is only one cashier stand on the second floor with two cashiers girls, which adds to a wait of many minutes while listening, not by choice, people's conversations on their phone. While Marco is waiting for his turn, I go to the cosmetics section to try any samples in my face. I try different types of eye creams, de-puffer, brightener, lifter, etc. …Then I move to the face ones, fillers, correctors, smothers, etc. Marco passes me by and says let’s go. I run out while I notice that the security person was looking at me the whole time, probably wondering what was I doing.
We come out of the shop. There is a gypsy man, almost in a fetal position begging for money, in the wall behind him, atop his head, someone has written “fascista”. I am not sure if is funny or sad that he has chosen to sit right there. He is there begging, while the Africans are selling you beads and threads bracelets, or other small items such as kleenex, etc. They work hard under any weather condition to make a buck. I wear in my left wrist a collection of threads and beads bracelets.
The trunk of our car is filled with Kleenex and umbrellas. We got to know some of them already. They are filled with hope, and they always offer you a huge smile. I love it! They do not look at you. They are busy trying to survive. We reach the end of Corso Italia heading for my favorite tiny immigrant Indian shop. In there I find manioc flour, Indian spices, Asian food and a few Latin products. In that street, the parade is different. They are there waiting for a job, an opportunity, a dream to come into reality. It is a street close to the train station. The street is graffiti in its own right. It is almost seven in the evening. We are ready to go home. We decide to take another street to return to our car. We do not want to pass by the packed narrow fashionable street. It starts to rain. Oh no, my laundry! I say to Marco. We finally get to the car, and drive home. We are tired. I run to get my laundry. It is damp, Thanks God, I say!