“I’m looking for Marco,” I said, feeling a surge of excitement.
The barista nodded thoughtfully. “There are many Marcos in this city,” she said. “But if you’re looking for the Marco I think you might be looking for, you might want to try the Piazza del Popolo.” Searching for- Marco in-
I thanked her and set out into the city once again, this time with a destination in mind. The Piazza del Popolo was a bustling square, filled with street performers and vendors selling everything from souvenirs to handmade jewelry. I wandered through the crowds, scanning the faces for any sign of Marco. “I’m looking for Marco,” I said, feeling a
As I walked, I noticed a small café tucked away on a side street. The sign above the door read “Caffè Italiano,” and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted out into the air. I pushed open the door and stepped inside, hoping to gather some information. “But if you’re looking for the Marco I
She scribbled a quick map on a napkin and handed it to me. “Ask for Giovanni,” she said. “He’ll know what you’re looking for.”