Tales from the Peninsula: Como, Ciro Di Marzio and a Train to Florence

Bam bam bam

“Apra la porta, scusi, apra la porta!”

I looked down into the sink of the rail car washroom, trying to think of my next step. Was I about to be kicked off the train? Yelled at? Arrested?  I didn’t know, but there was no way I could spend the night in Como.

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