I turned. From the bank’s entrance a guy in a dark blue suit and stripped silk tie walked slowly toward me. I knew exactly what was on his mind. He was curious. Why had I taken pictures of the ATM machine and the front of the building?
No, he wasn’t at all like those American Homeland Security goons at the airport, with a grim-face and a paranoid, authoritarian attitude. This guy was instead calm, polite, and friendly. But nevertheless I knew what I was about to tell him would simply lack credibility. But then what was my alternative?
My idea this morning, I told him earnestly, was to fully document with photos my daily stroll through the village. I stop here often to get Euros from the machine. It’s part of my routine, has been for the past eight years. And I’m surprised that I never thought to photograph it before.
“Does that make any sense?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, it does not.”
“Well, that’s what I was doing.”
He paused, and looked me over very closely. “Va bene,” he finally said with a shrug, and then walked back to the bank’s entrance.