Yesterday morning we asked a young hotel concierge a question about some particulars of Venetian public transportation. The boy – an apple-cheeked, smiley blonde creature – jokingly said that we seemed to have a better grasp on the workings of the traghetto than he did, because he was a new trainee, on a recent transfer from Germany.

Abel wished him good luck, and said, “I hope you’re enjoying Venice as much as  we are.”

The boy’s face showed a sour grimace, and then he laughed embarrassedly at having displayed a genuine emotion. “Uh, it’s very…”

From the side, an older concierge crept up and deftly grabbed the boy by the ear, giving it a mock twist. “It’s very… good for tourists!” the trainee concluded, blushing like a virgin bride.

We laughed and departed. I felt very evil for spending a good portion of our subsequent walk imagining a flogging the lad undoubtedly received in the back office.