(10/14/2011) When Raphael Frattini smoked, it was a thing of beauty in spite of itself. Like some Roman demigod reclining in the sky, he lifted his chin and artfully blew, as if sculpting distant clouds or giving invisible doves a momentary joy ride. It seemed to be his way of kissing life.
One would be unlikely to guess that he had been a cop -- and a damn good one, it was said -- for the past 30 years, but he had, and there were plenty of people who would attest to it.
Now that his two boys had their degrees, Liana had been awarded a nursing scholarship and his beloved Sophia was dead and buried back in Sicily, he would do what he had always wanted to do: cook. In just a few hours, Pasta La Vista would open its doors for the first time. And he would feed people: What a heartwarming occupation.
One would be unlikely to guess that he had been a cop -- and a damn good one, it was said -- for the past 30 years, but he had, and there were plenty of people who would attest to it.
Now that his two boys had their degrees, Liana had been awarded a nursing scholarship and his beloved Sophia was dead and buried back in Sicily, he would do what he had always wanted to do: cook. In just a few hours, Pasta La Vista would open its doors for the first time. And he would feed people: What a heartwarming occupation.
