A person who I met in a bar that same night.

That same night after the labor event, I popped into one bar on the way home, to put in facetime at local bars, and I started doing a kind of a crossword puzzle a bit at the one local bar I stopped into.

And, after a bit, a(n older) (gray curly haired) (slimmer) (white) lady in an understated but stylish coat came up and asked me what kind of puzzle I was working on, and if I had any weed I could sell her.

So, we started talking a bit, and it turns out that she was from a part of the city that was historically Greek but is now black, and she was one of the last kids who'd commute in and still go to the high school there, but now she lives north of the city, and she's an architect.

And, she told me that she did public planning and is now working on designs for a group home, and that she can work at the large scale or in the small scale, but the in between makes her very unhappy.

She also said that her niece had wanted to go out and bond with her and they went to this one club where all the Greek kids were, and they were all like 25, and she tried to dance a bit, but she saw this one girl who was super thin down down down her sides and then her hips flared out, and she thought to herself, "I used to look like that," and she decided she had to leave.

So, I told her that that was like sections of the climactic scene of Visconti's "The Leopard," which I had seen on the big screen a few weeks before.

I also encouraged her to read the book, which a(n Italian) acquaintance had recommended years ago, and which I guess is the one book all Italians read in high school, and which I read and really really enjoyed, and it's short, to boot.

"The book!", she was like.

Then, she told me that she had spent a lot of time in Italy, and one time she was living in Naples and seeing this one guy, then she broke it off and fled to 'a small volcanic island off of Sicily,' and he followed there and cried and apologized, and he gave her a copy of 'the book' that he had inscribed to her, and as she said "the book," she held out her two hands in front of her like she was presenting an offering to a pagan statue or something.

"And I was just looking at it two weeks ago," she was like, shaking her head.

I then started talking about other good books I had read lately or during my life, and she took out her notebook to take down titles, including "Heaven's Harlots," which is my favorite book ever, and which I often buy for people who I randomly meet in bars and start telling them about it.

"It's the memoir of a woman who was a sacred prostitute...", I began.

"That's so funny," the woman was like.  "Years ago, I remember walking into a bar, and out of nowhere, I thought to myself, 'I want to fuck God.'

"And," she was like, "I start dancing with this guy, and his name is Theo!".

Then, she added, "'Theo' means 'god' in Greek."

She then explained that they danced all night, but nothing ever happened, so she left.

When she finished it, I wasn't quite sure what I was supposed to get from her story.