After conversation at the Veronesan table over homemade linguine, root veggies and parsley pesto, farro and artichoke, clementines, and brutti ma buoni that ranged from dry rot in modernist homes of the Bay Area and various demifunctional automobiles of one's (recent) past to the preservation of vault ceilings of the lower church of San Clemente to the drinking habits of a Latin-speaking priest from Milwaukee with his ATMs in Latin and studies in the topological similarities of Terence's Latin verbs of motion & spatial prefixes in Serbo-Croatian, through the temperature of trulli and the principles of viral lawn gardening, Slow Food, & "Chilometro Zero," feeling particularly fond of these neighbors (o the concept) near and gone—& the invented sillinesses (so spare in any so-called adulthood) in deviating from, deliriously falling short of, the ambient life of art.