The Source of Our Citrus
A market in fair Verona, where we lay our scene I woke up at 4 AM with sleep in my eyes and a dark ball of anger curled up in my chest. On second thought, that was just the beginnings of a nasty cold—I was about to be sick, and I could feel it. Still in bed, blinking in the harsh glare of the overhead light, I ran my hands through my hair and turned to our host to say, quite literally, “Florian, why are you doing this to me?” There are some things about a person that just cannot be helped. Paula Deen cannot help but add a pound of butter to everything she makes. Nicholas Cage cannot help wearing pinky rings the size of a newborn’s fist. And me, I am someone who needs sleep. It’s not that I like it (which I do), it’s that my body requires it...