Glorifico

I sing the praises of the caffè shakerato: espresso shaken with ice, like a Bond martini, and poured into a martini glass with a foam of pure coffee on top. I sing the praises of Coca-Cola made with sugar instead of corn syrup. I sing the praises of the bus system of Rome, with its signs at every stop showing every stop that every bus that stops there has made and will make, and when that bus starts and stops running, and (sometimes) when the next bus is due, and how many stops away it is. I sing the praises of public springs, spilling endless streams of cold pure water from the corners of buildings and taps in the street, for filling water bottles or cooling hot hands and faces.

Take notes, America.