It takes me a while to realise I miss the car horns. Traffic still flies by, the emptier roads mean Italians take pleasure in speeding along, but what’s missing is the conversational trumpeting of beeps and long-stretching blows. The rhythm of my mornings is changing; I’m no longer woken by the congested chatter of thick traffic headed out to start the day. Instead, birdsong fills my window, a clearer symphony across the softened soundscape.
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