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Writer's picturesabrina lloyd

Naples

I am in love. Italy is now mine. It took a dark, edgy city to pull me in, and sink me. Naples is deep. It’s dirty. It’s sexy. It’s everything you think of when you think of Pacino, Deniro, men in dark suits whispering in corners. Sure, there is the Corso lined with expensive boutiques and monuments of stunning beauty, all perched upon hills that fall into an endless sea, but like an alley cat I staked the streets I was warned not to go. I leaned into the whispers and studied the faces distorted from not towing the line. I watched eyes watching mine and tried to catch the passion leaking from the sewers. My heart beat faster there. Even back in Rome it all looks new. I think we might be here for a while, caught, trapped.  It runs in my blood. My heritage. I have come home.














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