Upheavals at Cuma
"I glance to my right and study the ancient hill town again. It reminds me of a once wealthy old lady who has survived despite decades of losses to fortune hunters. On the outside is an old withered shell, but inside is a cool grandma with fascinating stories.
Startled from my thoughts by a passing horse-drawn cart, I watch it clip-clop along. The rhythm of the creaking wheels and the clopping of the horse’s hooves are shortly drowned out by the buzz of a motor scooter. It whizzes past me and whooshes around the cart with little effort. It’s kind of mind-blowing to see old-fashioned animal power and modern gas-driven power sharing the road.
Further on, I glance up the overgrown drive that leads to Dad’s office. I notice a dark blue car that lies half in a ditch on the side of the drive, and its rear is sticking out at a crazy angle. How on earth will anybody else get through? I smile, remembering some of the zany parking and driving I have seen here in the last few days.
But then I notice the license plate — NA-2369. It’s Gennaro’s car!
My heart begins to pound, and I race up the drive. Gennaro is slumped down in the driver’s seat. Blood is dried on his head and smeared on his filthy clothes, and he isn’t moving. My right hand shoots up to my mouth to stifle a scream, because he really does look dead this time."