The full and true story.

I know him as the man with the bandaged hand. Heavily bandaged. But with four fingers exposed. The thumb is bandaged. If I were walking the streets in America, I’d ask the man about his hand. Did he hurt it in an accident? Instead, I’m walking in Italy. I suppose the man is Italian and speaks only Italian. And I don’t. Other than a few words. So I let him go. And start to guess. Maybe he was in a fight. And punched a guy out.  He looks a little like a boxer. A middleweight. He’s older. But seems to be in good shape. Even walks faster than me. And I customarily put in 14-minute miles. I see the guy most every day. Sometimes, coming towards me. But other times, we are moving in the same direction.  Must walk quite a distance. Because I see him at different ends of town. Miles apart. That arouses my curiosity. We have something in common. Walkers.  It’d be nice if my Italian true love were with me.  And we encountered the man. I’d stop him. Without asking my true love. And ask the man in English. ‘How did you hurt your hand?’ Maybe he would demonstrate. And hit me in the nose. More likely, my true love would converse with him. In Italian. And I’d get the full and true story. –Jim Broede