After lunch at Café Caracol, during which Myrna complained at length about traveling all the way to Italy and having to eat at Taco Bell when she wanted some good old Eyetalian pizza, Karl couldn’t get the image of the statue out of his mind. He knew what his right hand fantasy relief would be when he was in his hotel room that night. He felt himself responding to the thought.
The bus rolled to a stop under the canopy of the Hotel Londra, returning from a tour of Florence’s Historical Center. As Karl’s group left the bus, he could hear a buzz of conversation from almost everyone they encountered on their way into the lobby.
Since Karl could not understand much, if any, Italian, he didn’t pay particular attention to what was being said, merely noting that everyone seemed extremely excited
