A little girl, probably ten or eleven years old, was also waiting in front of the bakery. She was holding the leash of a very large dog. I smiled at her. She smiled back. “You are very pretty,” she said in Italian. “Thank you. So are you. Is this your dog?” I asked. “Yes. You can pet him.” I crouched down and scratched the dog between the ears and his tongue lolled out. “You’re a princess,” the girl said. “I’ve seen your picture before.” It never made me feel bad when a child recognized me. If anything, it made me happy because of how excited it usually made them. “I am.” Now she was beaming
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