mario

A Conversation With Mario

It’s unusually quiet in the Italian diner. The lights are dimmed and only flickering candles in tacky glass bottles illuminate the place. The buzz from the street outside is sparsely heard. It’s February and cold. Nobody wants to be out. The waiter comes and fills a glass with red wine for me. “Garlic bread, sir?” The patron of the joint stands at the bar and his piercing eyes scan the…