When I met Old Red he was ready to jump into the Arno. It was sunrise and I was on my way home from Blob Club. ————— I had just biked my way through the Cascine. An old man had zoomed up beside me on his scooter and made kissing gestures at me, hoping I was a cruiser. ————- Old Red was distraught about something unclear. Was it SOMEONE he wanted, or SOMETHING? His Italian was spotty and his English even worse. I talked him off the bridge and he followed me to Isolotto where he tried to hot-wire several vehicles. Luckily at that hour there were no witnesses. I implored him to go home, wherever that was. He made a phone call, relieved himself in the bushes and even acted like he was going to catch the bus until he changed his mind. I offered my bike but he couldn’t reach the pedals. ————- I noticed he was wounded but was not sure how bad. When I asked him what happened he reverted to his own language and would not look me in the eyes. I almost got him into my building before he dashed into the street and under a truck that had arrived to set up the morning market. Goodbye Old Red, you will be remembered. Isolotto 2004