I leisurely make my way down the hallway towards my apartment. I look down at the Tupperware container in my hands with an amused smile. While at my parent’s estate, the thought of eating another morsel of food had me fighting back regurgitation, but now as I approach my front door with this container of goodies, I can’t help but be tempted to take another bite, even at the risk of my stomach exploding like a Monty Python skit. What is it about Italian mothers? I think my grandmother picked the wrong Modis Operandi for her career. She should have just force-fed people to death, codename Nonna.
With my keys in hand, I unlock my door and let myself in. The moment I shut the door behind me, I feel a sense of unease as I detect a distinctive and familiar scent of cologne. I don’t wear cologne
