disco

“It’s getting late,” my friend shouted in my ear at a noisy, sweaty discoteca. I looked at my phone. It was 3:47, and I had to be up in less than five hours. It’s time to go home, I thought.

Home. The long walk back gave me a lot of time to think about that word. Home. As I stumbled through the dimly lit Piazza della Repubblica, I wondered, is Florence really my home now?