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But—oh, here’s the kicker—some twat tries stealin’ my pouch! “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!” I roar, swingin’ my staff like a madman. She’s cacklin’, “Bloody hell, grandad!”—and I’m half-angry, half-proud. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but it felt epic, like facin’ a Balrog. We split a kvas I brewed—fizzy as hope in that film. “To life,” she toasts, and I’m thinkin’, “Even in despair, there’s this.”

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Then, I bumped into an old friend. Marco! We used to hang out all the time. He’s still the same, cracking jokes and all. We decided to grab lunch at this little trattoria on Via Cavour. The food? Amazing! I had the best risotto ever. Like, I could eat that every day. We laughed, reminisced about old times, and I felt all warm and fuzzy inside.

Maurizio Bottoni. Eternal Painting