Naples Below Zero

The Flixbus company that WE ALL LOVE so much- maybe its the neon-green that widens our desperate travel pupils or its because their buses, as oppose to lovers, actually take us to where we want without much effort or capital. One merely steps on without the big questions and rights to comfort. The driver says fuck off like any other respected Italian with a distinct musical flare to the expected attitude and accompany that sentiment with some wisdom from a chewing gum headed over my shoulder, right or left doesn’t matter at this point I tell you, but he spoke. Or shouted to everyone who wasn’t as fortunate as him to grow up on origami orrichiette with fiori something with that and not that. Italians love not that. My face turned into his. Mistake number one if anonymity is a blessing, but its fun. He said the only thing left in Italy that’s cheap is the cigarettes and its women. He doesn’t mention the bus of course as driving a cheap low fare bus would make him a pimp. But nevertheless, a flixbus driver is not one you really notice anyways, and this is especially felt at the Fiumcino dick head airport in Rome on a Tuesday in June, in a year that also fails to matter to anyone other than the meeger calendar on the application you fill out once you realize that Rome just isnt a city you want to see. At all. Rome resonates gargantuan pores and sewers with escaped bronze parts all the way to the airports hidden missiles. I congratulate Fiumcino for making a traveler not welcomed, but that is fine with me. Better that way, it doesn’t fail the major crowds though, unfortunately. Some idiots are going to the Vatican on a whim. I see a man with boxer shorts and one sandal swearing at workers from afar, making the construction site across the lame section of impoverished four wheelin’ melodies into a spectacle nobody wants to pay any close attention to as a cinema verité. The noise from non-Samsonite luggage and internal flames is, lets say, enough. Low chins, high hopes here at the bus stations 18 columns. As the arrival from Ryan Air was a grand mistake, I mean to say the destination here, not the plane, well that too, but I had three blue fake leather seats to sleep on so I’m not complaining. So you jump on the greenish carriage available outside the arrival area and sip on the most hated beverage of them all to this native land; an Americano to go. If Naples could be pixelated dots on a bus screen, so could I pixelate my presence there in about three hours. I guess I’m cheap too, but only if I manage to get off further south where the heat and pollution can change the color of anything really.

When I arrive to the volcanic terra og sulphuric sitrus palimpsest of empire dents, Naples stutters as I demand her to sing. I love it when its so easy; she refuses to take a shower once I’m there. A bitch, a real slut of a town, wanting me to lay next to her and frown upon my lateness, as if I’m jaywalking around cornerstones. Bussing, she freezes, tend to travel backwards, not wayward as I hoped.