In the land of the boot’s rock,
of the fig cookies and the granitas and the sun-dried tomatoes,
I stuck to a strict schedule. 

10 AM: Wake up.

10:30 AM: Get out of bed.

10:31 AM: Change out of my pajamas and into my bathing suit and coverup. 

10:35 AM: Rub the sleepiness out of my eyes.

10:40 AM: Walk down the stairs to the kitchen and make myself a bowl of cornflakes.

10:50 AM: Sit on the couch and scroll on TikTok for a bit. 

11:30 AM: Nonna calls out that lunch will be ready fra un po’. 

11:31 AM: Scramble for the book I left underneath one of the couch pillows, where the fuck is my copy of The Shining?

11:35 AM: Read five pages of The Shining and then return to where I left off on my For You page.

12 PM: Eat a delicious lunch of steak and peppers while simultaneously listening to Sicilian complaints and Italian stories. 

12:42 PM: Back to the couch.

12:47 PM: Check the UV. 

12:48 PM: It’s too high, I’ll go to the beach later.

12:58 PM: Fall asleep on the couch.

2:11 PM: Get woken up by a car pulling into the driveway. Could it be someone I know? 

2:13: HA! It never is. It’s my Nonno’s cousin’s brother-in-law’s dog walker, who my grandparents know. Somehow. 

2:20 PM: Make the stranger an espresso, then listen to a story about one of the frat parties at Texas A&M. Yes, the DJ did play Party Rock too many times. No, I don’t know Sarah Williams, who also lived in New York from 2013 to 2015. 

2:53 PM: Sneak up to my cousin’s apartment in the attic and watch six Friends episodes back to back while eating refrigerated Reese’s peanut butter cups and drinking peach tea.

5:04 PM: Check the UV.

5:05 PM: Sneak down to my room and get a bag together for the beach. Pack The Shining and SPF 50.

5:09 PM: Slip into my Havaianas, tiptoe past the dining room (Mr. Dog Walker is still there), pry open the front gate, jaywalk the one street to the beach, dump my bag on the sand, and run into the mint-toothpaste water like I just graduated high school.