The woman was old enough to find fortune in seeing in her next birthday. Her husband was even older. The dark-haired Italian Stallion lunged toward the white lines of the crossing where they slowly walked across, the van propelled by it's own weight. The woman looked up, fear in her eyes. The van screeched to a halt.
"Arrrrree-a-youuuuuu-a-scaaaaaared?" said the Italian Staliion, laughing.
I watched my knuckles turn white.
Welcome to Italy, bitch.