The Magic Word
On the way back from Milan’s Triennale museum, Jennifer and I ran into an info booth for the Refounded Communist Party. Sickle and hammer-themed flags were flying everywhere, it seemed.
Pulling out my camera, I was immediately accosted by a woman who said that she wanted to talk to me about the upcoming EU elections. Hoping she’d leave me alone, I replied that I didn’t speak Italian.
“Where are you from?” the lady responded in perfect, American-accented English. Knowing I’d send her running, I said “Israel.” Within seconds, she’d turned around and began walking away.
