He waits patiently in the shadow of the big church in the piazza - the one with the tilted bell tower - in the afternoon pause, he also pulls out a chair and puts on his sunglasses so no one can see that he is sleeping. " Is today the day the bell tower falls into the lagoon, " he thinks as he reclines.

Each day a hope guided by the swarm visitors. The church remains empty yet sometimes, the spiced smell of incense creeps out the windows and wakes him.