3.
Lulu greets me as soon as I come through the door. Which tells
me she’s snuck into the main apartment from her bed out on the
terracotta-covered terrace via the open window that accesses the dining room.
My fault for leaving it open. The small but muscle-bound dog jumps and yelps
until I pick her solid body up in my arms and hold her for a minute or two.
Then, letting her back down, I make up a bowl of the dry dog food she eats for
breakfast, lunch and dinner, and set it onto the kitchen floor. I grab a cold
Moretti beer from the fridge and sit down at a breakfast counter that abuts a
set of tall French doors leading out onto the grape vine-covered terrace.
Opening the package, I slide out the
materials it contains. Not much in the way of information. A couple of
eight-by-te
