The sun beats down on my shoulders. The smell of grass fills my nose and I hear children play across the field.

I sit atop the highest hill in town with Scott, Gino, our local friend Alfonso, and another American friend of his whose name I’ve forgot even as we were introduced. A dog barks as Scott stands up from his blanket; liberated from some hotel he stayed at before. My watch says three hours have passed since climbing up here.

The light changes fast up here, Scott is taking advantage of that. He snaps hundreds of photos of what’s around us. One moment his lens points at the book I read; the next, at the Duomo and the rest of the city center below. I’m watching all he does carefully. I’m asking him questions like a pestering little brother. He’s a patient man.

I look at the stone fortress above us as I talk to another group of Yanks sitting up here and wonder what the inside is like. I’m dismayed to find it locked.

Scott and I go for a beer. We listen to a woman sing Nancy Sinatra and talk about everything.

A few hours pass and we’re still here. Scott grabs his camera and walks to the hill’s edge. He snaps a few more of the old city. I close my book and follow. Gino sleeps on the grass, Alfonso and the girl left maybe an hour ago. I pester Scott with a few more questions. I tell him I’m starting, in a small way, to look at things like his species of journalists do; I’m looking at shadows, how the light falls, angles, and thinking of what might happen next that I could maybe capture. I don’t think I’ll get as good as many of the other students here, but I’m happy I’m starting to see it.

A breeze picks up and I finally shut up. I take in the city below. Scott’s off to my right and behind shooting. A few moments later I hear a familiar tune on the breeze. I look over at a few teenagers sitting below a tree. They’ve got their cell phones out and are giggling. They look back and forth from me to the phones and I realize what I hear comes from them. They’re playing a remix of “Macho Man.”

Photo by Scott Burry

I keep getting comments from people here that I’m kind of a giant to them. A few locals asked if I play American football. Others got it right with rugby. I guess thin is what’s popular for men here, though I know not all are.

There’s a lot left from that day. Gino, Scott and I made many jokes on that hill. We keep retelling them. Now a funny moment with a couple friends has a sound track.

More work by Burry