Remaking himself in a new place

Not a single person knew who he was or where he was from, who his parents or grandparents were what his family did why he was here or anything at all about him actually. He was a total and complete ghost here a nobody with nothing to start from no friends no connections nothing. He was as good as naked helpless and crying. Anything and everything he did from now on it would be all him. His successes his failures his mistakes his acts of genius his friends his foes he would have made because of things he did choices he made the steps he took not because of some bullshit reasons they had about him. He was not an idiot this was not heaven people were still racist and judgmental and annoying classist elitist here just as they were here but he was a blank slate and within those constraints he could go as far as his abilities would take him. He would be the master of his ship, the commander of his platoon the king of his castle. It was all him.

Italy wasn't the best place to prove yourself, he knew but he didn't care. The weather was warm the food was amazing the scenery sort of reminded him of home the people were gorgeous to look at, poor as they may be. No the poverty wasn't a hindrance at all rather it was an opportunity for him to prove himself be taken seriously and generally avoid snooty people entirely. Snooty people often had a good nose he had realized they could surprisingly tell how and under what circumstances one had been brought up, his cover would have been harder to hide, but with this poor region no one would be there to annoy him with questions about family background etcetera. He would be the fucking champion of the poor an appreciator of the arts a working class man who would rise to the top ranks while being artistic. A Don Juan of sorts. Not that he considered himself one, he had the potential to mark himself as one.

The thing that he liked about Italy and the Italians, and also that made him dislike both, was that everything was so...loud and at-your-face. You got very little time for yourself just like home except people were louder and closer somehow as if it was even possible. And unlike how he had imagined them to be, they ate quite...Americanly. He had imagined a race of bread-nibbling juice-sipping fitness freaks who would care too much about their figure and complexion, this was more like a less affluent side of mega-Mumbai...people had given in to the charms of American chains something Americans surprisingly had given up on, and their serving sizes were about twice of what he ate regularly. Even the girls. Including the cute ones. The ones they showed on tv and magazines, the petite dusky Italians who looked at you seductively come-hither, were far in-between, instead he found women who he could have just as easily come across any other town anywhere else, including back home. And the men...the men seemed to have given up entirely...the middle-aged men he understood but the young lizards as they were derisively called, they didn't seem to bother anymore either. The myth of the Italian hunk and the beauty was just that, he realized. People are people, wherever they are.

Which was an incredibly encouraging concept for him because he had expected to find himself in the middle of a superrace of incredibly fit and attractive men and women who would give him a complex. He had planned to use that as an opportunity for growth and a reason to push himself harder. The fact that he already felt better and nicer than most of the population actually encouraged him to do even better...if he was already so far ahead, just putting in a little bit of extra effort would take him to the top. Among fucking Italians! What a coup that would be, what a coup, he got excited merely thinking about it. He was all set to go.