Goodbye to Italia

I stand outside the building that was my home before I strutted off to war as a naïve boy of seventeen. The lavanderia is still there and I am caught up in such a nostalgic sensation that I have to consciously stop myself from getting too emotional. Thankfully, a pretty young girl with big brown eyes comes out of the shop and looks at me enquiringly. A breeze ruffles her dark, shoulder-length hair and I smell a floral scent. Wow, she smells good. I look at her appreciatively as she is dressed in a simple summer dress with a delicate floral design in pinks and greens. She is too young for me, of course, but I can see she will grow up to be a good-looking woman. ‘Lei vuole qualcosa? Do you want something?’ I hear her ask in a soft musical voice. I realise I have been standing outside the shop staring into space without moving.