We are currently going through this mini crime-wave in our neighborhood (something to do with ‘the final stages of transition’). Anyway in order to show solidarity, or something to that extent, the local neighborhood keeners are starting this ‘orange hat’ walk. You know, the whole orange hat thing is great in terms of people getting out there and making a difference but all I can think is “orange hats, damn I bet those are ugly”.

Moving on from the orange hats, crime waves are really scary in this country. When I’m out late at night walking my dog up in Canada I make sure I always have a good sturdy stick in mind in case I get accosted by a bear but here, well a big stick doesn’t do much against five fourteen year olds with handguns.

Actually the gang of 14 year old hand gun bandits has been caught due to their innate stupidity…which is why I’m concerned about them going to jail. I mean at the moment these kids are ineffective, they tried to rob someone who was out walking his dog and, of course, the guy had nothing on him but poo bags. So anyway they let him continue on his merry way and stayed in the exact same spot waiting for another victim to wander on by. Of course the guy called the police who went directly to the spot where the gang was hanging out and arrested them all.

My problem is this, if these kids get sent to jail they might actually learn something about how to be a criminal…I way prefer them stupid and harmless. Ok maybe one day they’ll grow up and be stupid and dangerous but I think that day will only come sooner if they’re getting private tutoring at the local penitentiary. It is with that in mind that I ask you (my - obviously very bored or why else would you be reading this – readers) to weigh in on the issue…whatever should be done with these stupid kids?

They say there is a wild beast hidden within each of us: an animal born from risk, suckled on adrenaline. I have seen such a beast emerge, break free from its human bonds. Yes, I have ridden in an Italian taxi. Amongst the ancient streets of Rome; a city baptized long ago by the blood of a thousand slaves, a city possessed by the luring temptation of a hundred flavors of gelato, is it any wonder that beast abound?

My encounter with the beast began with a wait; a seemingly endless and tediously long wait. Like a lion stalking antelope at a waterhole, the taxi beast lulled me into a bored sense of security. He approached through the cobbled streets, flanked by a protective swarm of scooters. Pedestrians scattered before him trailing panicked streams of cigarette smoke. But I stood unaware, unaffected by such warning signs, pleased in fact that the very taxi that bore the beast forth had finally arrived before me.

In I slid, naively sitting with my purse perched daintily on my lap. In I slid, gracefully brushing a loose tendril of hair behind my ear. In I slid, oblivious of the tenuous thread by which my mortality would soon be measured. And it began…

Through first gear, pushed a little too far causing the engine to emit an inhuman growl and plastering me solidly against the seat. To second gear which the beast pushed through despite the groan of the cobles and the whipping wind striking the walls not half a foot to either side of us. In third the beast whipped around a fountain, the squealing tires shouting back to the roaring spray of water. In forth the beast exploded, sliding both hands away from the wheel and draping them entirely across the dashboard in supplication to chaos. We reached fifth before we reached the highway screaming around on-coming cars in a defiant display of territorial supremacy. On streets built for plodding donkeys, the beast embraced 80; along lanes the width of a bicycle, the beast madly tore a path.

I was trapped, trapped in this terrible dance by the grinning beast. I could do nothing more than watch, with morbid fascination, the flashing images which I was sure would be my last visions of this world. Truly I was amazed by the beasts gall, by his apparent immortality, by his evident insanity. I cringed when the cell phone rang, trilling its sarcastic rendition of Rule Britannia. I shrank back against the seat in terror when the beast answered it. I stifled a cry of despair as the wily beast held his phone with one hand, gestured wildly with his second, spun the steering wheel with his third, and shifted constantly through the gears with his forth. How could it be, how could such a beast exist?

And then with a sudden revelation equal to that of a two year old child discovering the word ‘no’, I realized the true extent of the beasts presence. I understood at last his skill, his supremacy, and I relaxed. The beast glanced in the rear view mirror and saw my serene smile, a single eyebrow raised in response to my purposefully graceful gesture as I reached for the window controls and tapped lightly on the button. ‘A touch more air’ I spoke with my action, ‘the roaring wind no longer frightens me’. I saw a glimmer of panic in the beasts eye, a momentary lapse as he saw my terror slipping from his grasp (or perhaps the panic was in response to the on-coming yogurt truck, who can really pretend to understand such folly). A wild shift across three lanes, the taxi momentarily broadside to the rest of traffic. But no reaction from me. I know you now beast. I know that I am safe with you. I am no longer afraid.

We raced together, the beast and I, testing this new camaraderie. He drove now for my enjoyment, for the thrill of our understanding. He showcased his talents like a child before a grandfather, steering around a stalled car with nothing but his knees, hanging his entire torso out of the window to whistle into the wind for a beautiful woman, blurring green into yellow, into red.

Too soon, it seemed, our journey ended and I slipped out of the taxi confident and alive. I stood and watched the beast tear away, the high pitched squeal of tires his departing cry as off he raced, hunting for another fare to test yet another victim. So beware you who walk the streets of Rome, there is a beast on the loose.

Ok, so there I was one evening, trying to convince myself that the kitchen wasn’t actually that far away from the computer (it’s not), when my good friend who shares my love of procrastination emailed me to let me know that she had started a blog.

“A blog?” I thought, “Isn’t that one of those things in which strange people engage for the purpose of demonstrating to the world their love of pizza boxes constructed from Leggo?”

Yeah well turns out that her blog was really entertaining…and random. So here I am, trying to demonstrate to the world my own version of entertainment and randomness, following in my good friends footsteps as once again, I start something that I won’t finish.