finding a thousand words, in Florence

I return to Florence and find a thousand words.

Florence is a chessboard.  The Vespa is speed.  We rev north so that we can squeal back south on streets ignored by tourists.  We cross the Arno at the Santa Trinita bridge and head up Via Maggio toward the east end of the Pitti Palace.  The tips of my fingers throb with the far end of a heartbeat, and I don’t ask questions, just watch the skies and also the kids in their red and yellow puddle boots.