If I were of a literary rather than a scientific bent, I would find these scenes inspiring Dante himself couldn’t imagine a stranger hell than his beloved Florence stuffed with such exotic modern characters, pigeons whiffling overhead. As for me, I’m at an overpriced cafe with a “Coca-Cola Light” in my hand in the square before me, a bedraggled carriage horse has its great tethered head to the ground, warily inspecting some lime-green gelato spilled moments ago on the cobblestones by a fussy little Australian boy. Buon giorno from Florence, where I’m presently under the Tuscan sun-sizzling like bacon, I should add-as a hive of awestruck, pale-legged American tourists wearing Nikes, cargo shorts and Polo shirts descend with digital cameras at the ready on the Renaissance city’s signature Duomo in the Piazza Della Signoria.
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