The adult father stepped onto sun-warmed stones. The piazza erupted — pigeons wheeling into the golden morning air. He paused, then continued. The church bell tolled across terracotta and gold.
One pigeon landed squarely on his hat. He peered down. The bird refused to budge. With gentle fingers, he lifted it free, then kept walking. The bell rang again — steady and bright.
He followed the sound of laughter and accordion music through narrow streets. Ochre walls leaned close on either side. Somewhere ahead, a door stood open to a church.
Inside the small stone church, the adult father pressed his palm to a carved wooden pew. The organ swelled. At the altar, his friend waited in a bright blue suit. Candles flickered.
After the ceremony, the adult father ran barefoot across warm pebbles into the sparkling sea. A wave tumbled him backward. He spat saltwater — and then he saw it: a towering cliff, rising straight from the shore.
He tumbled in the surf, spitting saltwater. Then he looked up. The cliff towered above him, cracks and crevices waiting. He dug his fingers in and began to climb.
His fingers found grip in sun-baked stone. One hand, then the other. His bare feet pressed against cracks in the warm rock. Higher and higher, the sea shrank below into a ribbon of sparkling blue.
At the peak, he gasped. Far below, the wedding guests had spread a long table along the shore. His friend in the bright blue suit waved up — a slice of pizza on a paper plate in his hand.
The adult father slid down the loose gravel in a rush of laughter. His shoes trailed behind like a comet's tail. Below, the guests cheered. Pizza, wine, and the sea — his whole world, spread out before him.
That evening, in a tiny pizzeria, the adult father tore into a slice with cheese stretching long and golden. He folded the last crust into a napkin and tucked it in his pocket. 'For the journey,' he thought. Home.