The prompt is to use – George, Venice, bee, catastrophe, sweater – for a written piece that fits a postcard.
I, George Obbligato, otherwise called Giorgio in my hometown, Venice, am lying on the terrace on my chaise longue and recalling what happened between Orazio and me in the reataurant last night.
As you know, Orazio is the chef at my restaurant “Le Falerne alla Fiamma”. Last night, all of a sudden Orazio felt chilly. He put on his moth-eaten sweater, the one that trails loose threads from holes in the elbows. I was quite irritated to see him dangling some of these in the “zabaglione” he was whisking with vigorous strokes. I yelled at him. “If you are dressed so warm against imagined cold, I, myself am sweating from all the steam generated by the cooking pasta.”
I threw open the door leading to the alley, and went on separating radicchio leaves, washed these carefully, quite comfortable and busy, when suddenly Orazio starts yelling at the top of his lungs. “What a catastrophe, there’s a bee in my Zabaglione.”
This was a list of words given to my writing workshop to use in a ten-minute exercise. This is what I came up with from off the top of my head.