<span style="color: #4080FF"><span style="font-style: italic">Can you remember, remember my name?<br/>As I flow through your life<br/>A thousand oceans I have flown<br/>And cold spirits of ice<br/>All my life<br/><br/>I am the echo of your past<br/>I am returning, the echo of a point in time<br/>Distant faces shine<br/>A thousand warriors I have known<br/>And laughing, as the spirits appear<br/>All your life<br/>Shadows of another day…<br/><br/>And if you hear me talking on the wind<br/>You've got to understand<br/>We must remain<br/>Perfect strangers</span></span><br/><br/><a class="postlink" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PEVkcd3tBDY">“Perfect Strangers,”</a>by Deep Purple<br/><br/>* * * * * * *<br/><br/>At times brushed off as being just another of Italy's gritty little port towns, Ancona was, perhaps, no beauty at first glance.  Yet, there was more to it than met the superficial eye, and to jadedly overlook it would be to miss much...<br/><br/>In the old town, crowned by a resplendent cathedral church, one could peel back surprisingly rich layers of history, beginning with its founding by Greek settlers from Syracuse, around 387 BC.  Its name derived from the Grecian word Αγκων, meaning "elbow"; the harbor to the east of the town was originally protected only by the promontory on the north, shaped quite like an elbow.  Through Roman times, it retained its own coinage, with the device of a bent arm (a quite intentional pun) holding a palm branch on one side, and the profile of Aphrodite on its reverse.<br/><br/>In the present day, remaining Roman ruins, along with a stash of archaeological museums, and the Renaissance palazzi, glowed softly in the evening light; portals that beckoned to another era.  As well, if one were to linger long enough in the hilltop parks that overlooked the Adriatic sea, and the lively boulevards and cafe-rimmed piazzas, one would then see a more likable side to this seafront capital.  One that encouraged spontaneous escapades, delightful diversions, and the sort of bitter sweet romance, ephemeral or enduring, that was so often the subject of foreign films.<br/><br/>Foreign to the US, this was to say.  From whence had come a particular trio of travelers, this early autumn afternoon.<br/><br/><a class="postlink" href="https://creativefreedomrpg.com/viewtopic.php?f=6&amp;t=48627">Anna Evans</a>-- bar band singer, lingerie model (sporadically, for a pair of lesser known lines), internet entrepreneur (of sorts…), cocktail waitress (when those other gigs were not satisfying the rent) ---  knew a bit of the preceding facts about this place; where she, her younger sister, and her sister’s boyfriend were newly arrived.<br/><br/>Yes, she’d given the wikipedia entry a cursory once over.  And didn’t especially give a crap, nor possess much of a desire to learn anything more.<br/><br/>The Adriatic – known by some as “the jewel in the heart of Europe” --<span style="font-style: italic">was</span>breath stealing, though, and she did love being close to the sea.  One of the most spectacular beaches in the region wasn’t far from Ancona, and she planned on getting in some time.  A final chance to work on her tan before fall began in earnest.<br/><br/>But that would be after business was concluded.  For it was business that had drawn her here.   A prospective deal that just might give her fortunes a much needed shift.  Preferably out of reverse gear, where they had been for these past several months.<br/><br/>She was glad her sister, Sophia, had decided to tag along.   Both because her presence generally improved Anna’s mood, and because she thought it good for Sophia to get out, and see some place different.<span style="font-style: italic">Any</span>place.  Sophia was too locked into her little job, her low key routines, Anna felt.  She needed to<span style="font-style: italic"> live</span>more, have more excitement in her life, meet more people.<span style="font-style: italic">Especially</span>meet more people.<br/><br/>And by<span style="font-style: italic">people</span>, she meant<span style="font-style: italic">guys</span>.<br/><br/>Somewhere out there was the one who would sweep Sophia from her feet, and take her away from Dean.   Of this Anna was fully certain.  It was merely a matter of time, a matter of exposure.   But until then, she must bear with Sophia squandering herself on<span style="font-style: italic">the king of all douche bags</span>.   And with him indirectly disturbing her<span style="font-style: italic">own</span>world.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Jeez!  Why did I let him come along-?  Should have put my foot down...what in hell was I thinking-?   </span><br/><br/>She’d been over it a hundred and one times since they’d left.   And still had no good answer.  A momentary lapse in her judgment, was about all she could say.  She wasn’t a complete stranger to those, sad to say.  Their mother --  Dr. Lynette Evans, professional psychologist, no less --  would have been swift to agree, had she been along.  Anna was grateful that she was not.  God had granted that mercy, at least.   Not that Anna believed in<span style="font-style: italic">him.</span>Even if she did swear by him, frequently enough...<br/><br/>"God damn it!  What is he doing in there?"<br/><br/>‘He’ meaning Dean, and ‘there’ meaning the men’s room.  It was Sophia whom she addressed, seated at a small but upscale café that had been a convenient stop along the way to their hotel.   She had some ten minutes ago finished her iced mocha (non-fat milk, of course), and was rapidly growing tired of waiting.<br/><br/>Particularly waiting for<span style="font-style: italic">him</span>-- her own personal<span style="font-style: italic">nemesis</span>on this little jaunt.