When I was in my late 20s, I moved back to Italy to study realist drawing and painting. I was in the middle of a divorce, but it was a dream I couldn’t wait to fulfill. My first apartment was several flights up in the attic space of a very old building near San Lorenzo in the center of Florence. It was quite a walk to the studio school, but it was inexpensive and I loved the view. From up there, I could see another part of the life of the city. People had tiny roof gardens, secret spots, places to hang laundry, windows to peer out of, and views out over the street. My place was up a narrow, crooked staircase that seemed to have been added to the building at a later time. For some strange reason, there was a locking metal screen door at the bottom of my staircase. I say my staircase, because I was the only one up at the top. On the floor below, was a family with two small kids who were very curious about me, and another apartment with an elderly woman who always wore black. She was tiny and feisty, always giving me advice about men and what they were good for. Every evening, she would hear me creep up my staircase and she would poke her head out of her door to remind me to lock my screen door. She would say, “There are men. Capisci?” At the time I found it silly and mildly annoying. Now I think I would just tell her, “Si signora, there are.” Thinking of that little place, and the start of one of the greatest adventures of my life always makes me smile.