On Rome Time

It’s 4 am.

“You awake?”
“Yep.”
“Me, too.”

We talk until the skies lighten to a steel gray.

We take Betty to Central Park before work, stopping along the way to pick up huge, steaming cups of American coffee.

The leaves have finally fallen from the trees, and Betty zips through them, tail wagging. We stroll through the park, reliving moments from the trip. Finally, spiceboy asks, “What time is it?”

We have both forgotten our cell phones, our watches.

We are still on Rome time.