Home To Italy by Peter Pezzelli

By Peter Pezzelli

During this pleasant, relocating debut novel, Peter Pezzelli brings to lifestyles the earthy sensuality of Tuscany-- the odor of just-baked bread wafting in the course of the village piazza; the shopkeepers sweeping the sidewalks below the nice and cozy, early morning sunlight; teams of

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Feeling as much revived as he could reasonably expect that first day, he slipped on his shoes and reached for his jacket. The air was cool and dry when Peppi stepped outside and began to make his way down the sidewalk. It felt good to get out and walk after being cramped up like a canned anchovy for so many hours on the plane. Now, with all the shop lights glittering in the growing darkness, the street seemed far livelier to him than it had when he first rode in from the airport that morning. He strolled along, glancing into the windows as he passed.

I am Mario,” he had answered in faltering English. “But everybody calls me Peppi,” he added hastily. ” she said, giving him an inquisitive look. ” “Why, no,” said Peppi, by now completed flustered. “In that case, I’ll call you Mario,” Anna told him with a mischievous sparkle in her eye, as if she had understood right away that this would be a great annoyance to him. Peppi stopped talking for a moment and let himself enjoy the memory. ” said Loredana eagerly. ” “You got hit by the thunderbolt,” laughed Claudio.

Before long the village was behind them and they rode off into the rolling countryside beyond.

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