Adventures in Ostia.

Me, by Ostia’s decrepit fountain by the post office, in 1989. It was still there, still the same, 13 years later.

When I was 12 years old, and in the middle of an immigration process from Belarus (B.S.S.R.) to the United States, we were living in a small Italian coastal town called Ostia. We shared an apartment with two other families, because that’s all anyone could afford, but luckily for me, one of those families had a boy, Misha, who was 11 years old, and we became fast friends.