Italy- The beginning

Italia. Cigarette-smoking trains huff in their station slots.  Drying clothes, trousers and dresses wave at us from their perches on lanai railings.  I don't know the Italian word for lanai. 
I don't know any other Italian words, for that matter, but I know that this crying child heaves her tears in the same language as every other child on earth. I know that this bathroom, with it's frosted-glass and one euro entrance... is out of toilet paper, too.
Just like the ones in Seattle and Chicago.
There are buildings hoary with TV antennae and the praying mantis legs of power lines above us. 
We drift through an insect world, all squeaks and rumbles, chewing at something, anything, everything.
I ate a cheese and bread breakfast this morning over tulip fields in the Netherlands.
And even now, gliding down a steel rail through Rome with six colors of spray paint that I can see on the tagged wall through a window on my left
and a centuries-old ruin of brick and moss on my right,
Even now,
my world grows smaller and brighter and closer to home.