With all too much time to kill until my train in the morning, I left Rome’s Termini station to find some place to take a piss. Little did I know that when I would return I would be locked out for three hours. I should have taken the hint from all the people lined around the outer walls, with their make shift bedding of cardboard mattresses and filthy blankets, that the metal and marble comforts of the station would be under the scrutiny of lock and key overnight.
Literary Reportage 