[He offers the glass and listens with a smile-- pleased both by the story itself and the picture it paints. Italy is still a distant foreign haze for him, uncertain and mostly illustrated by stories of fights and criminal struggles. Something so sweet and simple is good to hear about.]

Well, you are skinny. God forbid they didn't shove food on you, you might've just disappeared and then who'd fix their roof?

[Murmured, and he sets his chin in the palm of his hand, offering a grin.]

So how many times did they try to set you up with their granddaughters?