On my right wrist is a cheap string bracelet. You might know it as a friendship bracelet, a collection of a few lengths of embroidery thread wound around another length of thread. It’s a multicolored string, and nothing more.
I’ve had it on my wrist for almost three years now. I still recall the day in July when I came out of the subway stairwell at Duomo, and I was approached by an African trinket vendor. Here in Milan, you get used to seeing these guys wherever there are a lot of tourists. They speak something like nine languages, and they are as charming as they can be while they try to convince you to buy something from them.
This vendor in particular stunned me with his wide smile, and before I could think he’d already tied the bracelet on and moved to my hubby to haggle the price. In the meantime, he also tied a string around hubby’s wrist. I’m telling you, pickpockets aren’t this bold.