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and raised in such an atmosphere, find impossible to escape.
    For the example, if something upsets Papa, and that’s usually his son’s ambition to turn professional as a footballer and not takeover the family business, then Papa doesn’t care one iota whose around to see him let off. In his loud, native language, he screams and curses until he reaches such a crescendo that anyone entering the cafe at that precise moment would probably believe that a murder had just taken place, or some similar disaster, which is when Marissa, his wife and best friend intervenes, and talks him down with all the skill of a diplomat.
    Equally, if good fortune comes his way, such as his tea m Napoli winning some big game, then you will no doubt witness Papa singing loudly and urging his wife to dance around the tables and chairs, Papa is of medium height and looks at you with eyes that might have come straight off Bambi thus giving him, despite all his noise and bluff, a real little boy lost look. He has a largish nose, hair that has turned from black to grey and full red cheeks. His longtime companion in life, Marissa, is still something of a stunna. Much to the envy of her friends back in Italia, I should imagine, she has kept her figure whilst in her face, you can clearly see the exceptional beauty that surely must have turned many a head in the streets. Her eyes are jet black and these are set off even further by her delicate porcelain cheeks which accentuate even further their mood of both sadness and joy. She is also a kind, wise woman genuinely interested in all you have to say, often sitting down, if there is no immediate work to be done, for a pow wow that is always warm hearted. As I entered the cafe, she was the first to greet me as I ordered two capos and took my fave seat by the window, a position that allows me, myself and I to gaze upon the Capital’s citizens whilst daydreaming away the hour. As soon as she clocked me Marissa knew something was up for I lack Sammy The Foot’s immense acting ability and can never create disguises.
    After placing the coffees in front of me, she touched my arm, and said, ‘You look a little pale today. Are you feeling alright? Perhaps you have a cold coming.’
    â€˜No, no, no. I’m cool. Everything is fine. I’m just waiting for my friend.’
    Marissa looked at me briefly with slight bemusement and moved off to the counter to help Papa prepare the sandwiches for the lunchtime rush, which, it being Saturday, would not be as hectic as the weekday.
    Papa’s is actually a small joint and looks more like a take away operation than anything else for there are only a few chairs and tables to sit at and it is normally the long queues of bored office workers that stretch out onto the pavement, their glazed eyes reflecting the tedium of their work, that enables the Supinos to make cashola.
    I had not waited too long before Brother P. reached and was entering the cafe decked out immaculately in brown brogues, white and brown dog tooth strides, a white button down collar and a green suede jacket. A sight for sore eyes, indeed. He came over and rested his hand lightly on my shoulder and asked, ‘Cool?’ before turning and saluting the Supinos and then coming to rest by sitting down in front of me.
    â€˜This earth gets warmer by the day,’ he said with a slight nod to outside, ‘and that is not good news. It’s too hot for this time of the year. In winter it has to get cold so that things die and can be reborn.’
    â€˜Tell me about it,’ I replied. ‘Only a jacket and shirt today.’ Brother P. took a sip of his capo and sized me down.
    â€˜So, what’s up,’ he said stirring his chocolate into the coffee and getting straight to the reason for this hastily convened meet.
    â€˜It’s a heavy one,’ I warned him, ‘very heavy. I still can’t believe what has just gone down.’
    Brother P. reached inside