The two of them didn’t look like they belonged there, not at all. I’d been coming to this train station to watch the city for years, and I hadn’t seen anyone like these two before. They weren’t odd, like the two punk rockers in the corner that looked like someone from 20 years ago. They weren’t old, like most of the tourists that came through here. They weren’t even new, like the teenagers that you see with backpacks and hardly more trying to figure out which way is up on some tourist company’s map. They were just different. They didn’t belong here.

I didn’t quite see them disappear but they weren’t where I just saw them… I was wondering what had happened to them trying to find where they ran off to when they reappeared… The man, or rather young man, had led them back to the window, right behind the punks, to try to negotiate something – they didn’t know where they were. That must be it, they were lost! I should say something to them, but I’m too old for that now. Sitting on this bench whenever the mood strikes me is what I do now.

She was something else. I never looked that good in my younger years, when the younger Italian men would chase after me… She had a different way about her than most of the Americans I saw did. She didn’t walk the same way; she didn’t seem so preoccupied with whatever it was the rest of them always were. He noticed.

He didn’t look at her like any of the younger Italian men looked at me. I don’t remember being looked at like that ever. I don’t know what I would have done! It couldn’t have been something that I’d have ever known what to do with. I’m so glad it never happened… but she didn’t even slip in her steps… She knew what it meant, and she liked it. There was no miscommunication and there was no misunderstanding – they loved each other.

I wondered what they were here for – I know the city can draw everyone for all kinds of reasons – I bet they’re relaxing… Its not a city to relax unless you try though, they haven’t learned that yet J They will… They won’t leave here the same, I can promise them that…

I’m happy for them – in a way that makes me remember my life. In a way that makes me remember all of what Rome has done for me… all of the places I’ve been and all of the people that have been with me, all of the times I have wanted to be here, back here, happier than ever. Like them.

Michael Osborne. Is a 25 year old techie in Austin, waiting for the next best thing. He has lived all over the US and hasn't written enough. He doesn't think most people think enough about anything – about what they’re saying or what they’re doing or who they’re with or anything. He thinks, He thinks too much. Right now he is thinking about writing, so here’s a piece.