My Zesty Italian Imagination

Oct 14, 2020 Diary entry: I remember an Italian kid from back in the neighborhood, his name was Alfredo, he had a sister named Marinara, they brought zest and life to our drab macaroni and cheese existence that threatened to boor us clear through the hollow earth all the way to China, until we were the left over dregs of a world we thought we knew, but it was a world that didn’t care to know us, where was I, oh yeah, this canned spaghetti is horrible, I don’t know why I bought it, I was starving when I went grocery shopping and the picture on the label was enticing, it was just a cartoon drawing of a plate of spaghetti, but when I saw it I imagined sitting in a little out-of-the-way bistro’s open courtyard under a full moon, gazing into the eyes of a beautiful signorina who had just pledged her undying love to me as I twisted a cork from the cool dusty neck of a bottle of bold red vino, and we laughed the night away as if it were our very own secret joke, anyway, this canned spaghetti is horrible, I think I would rather have a pig anus hot dog, wait, scratch that pig anus, I’d rather have a kosher cow anus hot dog, I’m trying to eat cleaner these days, well, shalom all…

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