It is still March, and I have come to savor these waning days of winter. The air still has a chill, and the clocks have yet to be pushed forward. The steady trickle of tourists that will become a torrent with the warmer weather retreat with the sunset, and I am left alone alone to have the piazzas and monuments and medieval vicoli all to myself. I can hear my footsteps echo and the fountains gurgle under the feeble light of the sodium vapor. A few shop windows beckon falsely - there is no one behind the locked gates. That's OK, I only want to look. I try to loose myself by turning down streets I don't recognize. Like some sort of Cinderella for a few hours, this city is mine to possess. Tomorrow is another day, the morning will come and the city will be taken over by others, but for now it is mine.