In the fall of 1865 I came across a slightly inebriated coin merchant..his pale cloth laden frame was supported by a worn oak fence on the outskirts of Tuscany. He was denied a name at birth and this clearly bothered him. He held a 1/4 bottle of metaxa by his side. We were strangers by all accounts because I had never laid my eyes upon him until this very day. Hell, I don't take my eyes out for just anyone. It turns out he was once a wealthy businessman who travelled around Italy selling milk back in the day. I thought to myself that if a man such as this can travel down so many roads within a lifetime..then life is truly random and hard on many. He told me that "much like those cows who provided him with such wealth..life must also be milked for all it's worth.." I don't know why I tell you guys this. I guess I just wanted to stay home and watch the rain because I'm tired of lying in the sunshine.