I was up early with Z; we got dressed and went down the street to pick up pastries for breakfast. Z ate hers outside the hotel. "It's not as good as the ones from the bakery near our apartment," she said. The ones from Gilda Vio might have been better but it was cold outside, I'd forgotten Z's sweatshirt, and I couldn't face that reception again.
We had packed and settled the hotel bill the night before; all that remained was for us to shower, put away last-minute items, strap on the luggage, and head out. K had his carry-on bag slung over his shoulder; I had the large travel pack; N had the carry-on pack, the poster, and the kids. We found the ATVO office in Piazzale Roma, bought our tickets, put the luggage in the bus, kept the kids away from the traffic which they'd grown unused to over the past fortnight. After we left, K would check out his options: perhaps the bus or train to Treviso, perhaps somewhere else. He had the freedom of a college student, more perhaps, because he could speak the language well, buy his way out of difficulty, and was not tempted to hang around other Americans.
The bus started up; we waved goodbye. It is good, when leaving Venice, to have someone to wave to. I hadn't experienced that before. We swung around and onto the causeway, thick with traffic coming in from the mainland. The August holidays were over, and it was time for everyone to get back home, Italians and foreigners alike. Venice had survived another high season. The factories of Marghera loomed into view; it seemed, for an instant, that we were suspended between heaven and hell. And there, I think, is where I should stop.