Italy was an odd country, or so this man thought. The ancient ruins mixed with the modern city inspired a sense of confusion; the juxtaposition between the modern and the classical was one not found in many other places; sure, there were plenty of European nations with many the same number of ancient ruins, though none like Italy. The history here was so rich, so pure, and yet so derivative. The Roman Empire was the melting pot of the ancient world, where cultures came to mix in places where they otherwise wouldn't exist. It was the combination of the classical Europeans, the vibrant African cultures, and the expressive Asian minds that came to Rome to mingle among like-minded individuals. How on Earth had such a place become the hotbed of fascism in Europe? That was the question Rizzo found himself asking as he wandered down the road, the warm sun beating against his olive-toned skin that seemed oddly out of place even here in the Mediterranean climate.
For Rizzo was no average Italian man, and no matter his admiration of this country Rizzo knew that he did not, nor did he wish to, belong. Born of an absentee Italian father and raised by a Turkish-Greek mother, the idyllic island life of Corfu was the only life he knew. He knew not of the colosseum, the red-roofed villas, nor the vibrant nightlife. He knew only the sea, the blue-roofed cottages atop towering cliffs, and the quiet life that came from such places. Greece was his home and it was there that he felt most comfortable. Italy was a stranger to him, much as his father had been to him when they first met so many years ago. Ever since going to Naples for the first time, Italy has always felt like a hotel rather than a home. There was this sense of non-belonging that always kept him so distant. Even today as he worked in Rome as a literature professor.
Rizzo had kept a habit of keeping his head down, eyes averted from others gaze, and posture kept strong enough to keep conversation minimal. This allowed him to keep his social circle quite small, if it existed at all. The only true person who seemed to peak his interest was his fellow WW1 veteran, Enzo Armani… A curious fellow, much too happy for his own good. A truly genuine soul that Rizzo felt a connection for, one that was strong enough to make him question what it was. Love? What a silly thought…
Meeting for coffee with a man who he had not seen in twenty years made Riz excited, but above all he was extremely nervous. What was he to expect from this meeting? Would it turn into a friendship beyond letters, perhaps a forbidden romance? Hah! Did he just think that to himself? Alessandro Rizzo, emotionally unavailable, thought he was truly capable of being in a serious relationship? With a man no less? It's not as if Riz had not been intimate with other men before, but those were in passing. Never committed. Never serious. Perhaps his longest relationship was the weekend he spent with a Englishman on a tour of the University...why, what a depressing thought…
As he came upon the intended meeting place, Ale could spot the red hair from across the way. It was just as fiery as he had remembered it, his slightly less pale than he remembered. Perhaps too many hours outdoors brightened his complexion? Or, as was the case in many circumstances, Rizzo was simply forgetful of many details.
"As have you, my friend" Rizzo said, his accent a mix between his native Greek and the Italian that he spoke most often nowadays. Taking Enzo's hand within his, he offered a few strong shakes before placing his hand upon his suit's button, unfastening it as he sat down on the metal chair. "Did I keep you waiting long?"
