Guilty or Not. Alice Zogg
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The professor must have made a joke, she deduced. Holy Krewe! His lecture is nearly over, she thought. About time I start listenin’ or I’ll flunk the course.
CHAPTER 11
Little Italy is located at the northwest end of Downtown San Diego and borders Laurel Street to the north, Ash Street to the south, Interstate 5 to the east, and the San Diego Bay to the west. Historically, the district was home to Italian fishermen and their families making a living from tuna and other deep-sea commercial fishing. Since the late 1990s, the area went through gentrification. Its main street, India Street, now boasts of public art plazas, galleries, antique stores, and numerous restaurants with outdoor seating. It has become an active neighborhood, offering frequent festivals and events, including a weekly farmers market.
On Friday, May 25, Enzo Moretti sat at his usual table at Cucina di Enzo, eating lunch, as he had done most every day since the passing of his wife, Giuseppa. With his appetite diminishing daily, he could only manage a mixed green salad. Sometimes an old neighborhood friend or two would join him, but on that Friday he ate alone. A steady flow of patrons entered the restaurant, but lost in thought, he did not seem to notice any activity around him.
He had never been one to wallow in self-pity, yet at that moment he longed desperately for an end to his life. When diagnosed with advanced pancreatic cancer in February, he had prayed to God that he might live long enough to see Steven get married. Now he wished he could have died before that horrible day on April 8. Keeping up a good attitude got harder with each day.
In happier times, he used to take pride and be involved in all the Little Italy annual events, like the Art Walk, where thousands of people came to buy articles of art, or the Gran Fondo, with bicycle riders from all over the world participating in a 100-mile ride that started under the Little Italy landmark sign. Just last weekend – as was customary in the month of May – Little Italy celebrated the Sicilian Festival, featuring Italian and Sicilian entertainment, old world vendors, and Sicilian cuisine. And in September, he used to enjoy the Labor Day Stickball Tournaments, where several stickball leagues played on the streets of Little Italy.
The December Christmas Village and Tree Lighting event had been Giuseppa’s favorite, with Santa Claus riding in on Little Italy’s Fire Engine, kicking off the festivities with music, shopping, and fizzy snowflakes for the kids. And not all that long ago, he had enjoyed participating in their weekly farmers market. He sighed and thought, I’ve lost interest in all of it. Now I just wait for the merciful day I’m permitted to die.
The old gentleman had long finished his salad and Hanna, the waitress, pulled him out of his daydream by asking, “Espresso, Mr. Moretti?”
“Might as well,” he answered, “I’m waiting for someone.”
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