Via del Market Extensione and Prima Via.

Tittagglia was on his Delli Orio bicycle, heading for town.  As he pedaled along, he mused about making the television commercial, where he tossed a bottle of wine into the roadway and it exploded.  The commercial was never aired, as censors considered it objectionable for a number of reasons, but he did get a fat paycheck from the Delli Orio company for shooting the commercial.

He went along the Via del Market Extensione, towards Sharote, and once there he had kidney and a loaf at a cafe on the main street(prima via), then got some Umbrian red for later that night, putting it in his wicker basket on the front bar.  The Umbrian red would calm his nerves when the logs whispered later that night as they burned in the fireplace.

He stopped, with his stomach still quite full, and lay down beneath an apple tree, among fallen, rotten apples.  There was a wine smell.  Yellowjackets came and made semi-circles over Tittagglia's sleeping form.  A stray dog came and took away one of the arti…

The charge of Monsanto and Tittybug, on their last hoorah!

Tittagglia went to the Tileo foothills to summer away, escaping some of the humidity and thunderstorms, facing instead morning frost and mudslides.

He walked through the knee-high heather, looking for nature scenes worthy of painting, things like waterfalls and boulders set before the wood.  He saw a wild horse, running along with its head down.

Rather bullish.

He saw Monsanto and his worthless boy Tittybug.  Tittagglia mused that it was so hard to make a proper start these days, hard on a young person.  Still, Tittybug was hardly worthy a proper start.

They exchanged greetings and talked of the apple cider, that pulpy goodness that was for sale along every other mile on the roadside.  Monsanto was saying this was the last of the family vacations, with the boy having aged into adulthood.  They had just bought him his own horse and carriage, which he left with a hostler for care and feeding while they vacationed.

Tittagglia found a tree stump, about waist high, and when he walked up an…

Dr Pepper trouble, the one with the NCAA football on the side of the bottle...

Apocalypsus Hastings was a doctor by trade, so Tittagglia called him up one day.  They went to the edge of Sharote, SC by the Legion building and the scrapyard and looked down on the town.  Hastings took out his monocle and watched intently in the town below as a single Dr Pepper travelled between the stores.  The red and brown bottle went from the I.G.A. to the Market-Market, to the Great Station, to the Speedy-Mart.

He explained to Tittagglia that he was looking for the Dr Pepper with the football on the side.  Not the new XBox or any of that jazz.  This sports edition had special meaning for Apocalypsus.  And while on the hill, Hastings saw his brother Roald Pogue coming out of the Serv-way convenience store.  He made no comment, for he had mixed feelings about his brother.

Later, Roald Pogue was on a tirade about the Serv-way not selling anymore Hotted Dogs.  Sure, they had the weiners in the coolers.  You could make your own.  But it wasn't the same.  Furthermore, Roald Pogue…

Family business, or "the sausage, making of".

We were talking but there was a noise from outside.  The widow Blaustiften went to my window and looked.  The Today Show crew was in Tittagglia's yard.  It was becoming a circus in Tileo's Granary.

With grease around his mouth, I saw Tittagglia come out and walk right up to the reporter, interrupting a live shot.

It was on.

I turned my teevee to the local NBC affiliate and watched Tittagglia explain that his wife was in Decatur, Georgia on family business.  She had not come home yet because she was sticking to the two-lane state blacktops, hoping to see classic cars sitting in the weeds, of which she intended to take pictures.

I knew more, though.  Tittagglia had started making sausage at home.  He had a grinder and a box of casings he ordered online.  He also tossed an armload of clothes in the garbage a few days ago.  Looked like lady's clothing, and there was one lilly-white Reebok in the yard that had dropped from his hold.

The widow Blaustiften listened to Tittagglia …

Giovanni Supperini and the day of the Trivalli Sewer Rat

Giovanni Supperini sputtered about the cobbles of the city and the dirt of the country roads on his little mint green Vespa, busy about the bidding of his barrister employer, I'Gialli, esq.

When Supperini reached Tittagglia's villa, the former used subterfuge to coax the latter from the house.  Supperini yelled that he was selling frog legs and whacked at a tin pan, which cause a start from the artist, who burst forth from the house.  Then Giovanni Supperini flogged at the artist's chest with an envelope that contained a court summons.

Doubtless a matter of some female's outraged honor.

Tittagglia, at length, receded back into the walled complex of his rooms and yard, where he was teaching his local rustic gardner Cicero's Latin.  This new teaching was the sum of the rustic's speech.  Whenever someone greeted him outside, he spat a flowered, flowing gibberish at them, which was not actually gibberish, but a defunct tongue, spoken on a defective tongue.

Valleo t…

she either has to BE DEAD or simply LOOK DEAD.

Tittagglia was on tour, spending the fall in the outer belt.  He was presently at the Clio Opera House in Clio, SC, acting out "Searching For Richard".

From inside, through an open window:


An inebriate shot a hole straight through the theater company's wagon, with the bullet passing through Tittagglia's wardrobe trunk, ruining several pairs of Olde English-style hosiery.

From inside, through the same open window:


Tittagglia courted a lady later in the evening, and waited until her eyes closed, when she could pass for dead, before he made his amorous move.  He heard her breath stir and it killed the mood.  He considered putting his cloak over her face to stifle her breathing, but thought not too, for that was too violent for him.  He would just lie there all through the night, beside her, hoping she would die…

Either madness or the sign of an active mind.

Tittagglia rose normally and made himself a little note, a post-it note, filled with art supplies, and placed the note on his refrigerator.  He then went to adult day care as usual and had a pretty regular old day with the adult coloring book, filling in blank spaces with color.

The sign of an active mind, or the sign of madness, it is to be impulsed to fill in all the blank spaces all the time.

When he got home, he had another good start, because by that time, he had forget making the supply list, and when he saw the little yellow note on the cold metal refrigerator door, he freaked out in absolute horror.

It properly put him off his afternoon post, cup, and grommet.  He went into his bedroom, turned the lights off, locked the door, and hid under the sheets, never once allowing himself to think of the horrid note.

The next morning he arose, having completely forgotten the day before, showered and dressed, went to the kitchen, saw the note and placed it in his breast pocket for later,…