Something very exciting happened yesterday: one of the men who works at the bakery that I go to EVERY morning to get my two pieces pane azimo to eat with my lunch *(more on this in a second) knew what I wanted. Of course it's very likely that he knows what I want every morning (since it's always the same thing) but just likes to hear me stumble over the compisition of the sentence, but for whatever reason, a string of small miracle occured: I walked in, he looked at me, asked me if I wanted two pieces of pane azimo, I said yes, I paid, and I was on my way.
*I was really excited when I discoved pane azimo: it's like a thin, whole wheat and sesame seed cracker with a wheaty, nutty taste and just enough crisp. Yesterday my italian friend pointed out to me that pane azimo is the equivelant of italian matzah! So not only do I walk through the Jewish Ghetto every morning to get to work, but--and I find this a little bit remarkable--I enjoy the unleavened bread of my ancestors each day at lunch.
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