I can fit Rome on my fingernail

It poured all day today, and water ran across the cobbles. Hero is in a funk, his bold and noted hair flat on his head. In the afternoon, Hero and his lovely hostess, Milena, ran through the slick drizzle to a market and found a tomato expert rumored to be a member of the banned Red Brigade. As we talked, he cut me and Milena pieces of tart cherries and fat rich Brandywine. The tomatoes are magic. They taste like none found in the US, where Americans believe south New Jersey's ripest. late-August beefsteaks are Great Produce. In fact, they are not. But it's no one's fault. The Romans have enchanted soil.

In response to the Slovenian poet, JW School of Hits, Hero has this to say: The Polarity Solo ran out of money. Gaps in required technology (such as the Inmarsat C) hung like a fog over our daily routine. But the problems went deeper than just money. Hero encountered more tragi-comical issues with each passing hour, including the inoperable liferaft strapped to the transom, the hand-sewn Frankenstein of a Solent, and the shredded genoa bunched in a molding pile in the sail locker. On the second day aboard, Hero initiated a debate with his reluctant skipper over the realities of PS's finances, especially in view of daunting equipment list. It wasn't long before Hero - who is a Hero because he is patient and generally good-willed - ran out of patience and good will.





to be continued...