Parsnip Soup

5,00 Stern(e) 1 Stimme
Piero sat on the chair, outside in his quarters.

He was chatting to his mates. His wife had bought some water at the local supermarket. They held their glasses to their chests, and joked about this, that and the other. He caught a glance of the blonde lass that whizzed past, in order to buy some veg at the local market. He had seen her before, he was sure of it. He liked her slender figure, and her green eyes, as they squinted.

As she arrived at the market, she stopped in front of a stall, and bought some parsnips, as well as artichokes for 7000 Lire. ‘Parsley?’ the vendor asked. She had some cream in the fridge, and was planning on cooking parsnip soup. After all, they were on offer, and it was her turn to prepare supper.

‘I bet she’s a veggy’, Piero’s wife thought. Piero, however, liked to keep his feelings for her under a hat. ‘No more hanging out under her doorstep’, a friend of his said, and added ‘and singing under her porch, like a knight in the middle ages.’ – So much for keeping secrets.

Back at home, Lucia, or Lu, as her female friends called her, teased her: ‘How’s Mr Married?!’ -‘Leave me in peace, I’m peeling parsnips!’ she exclaimed as she took the parsnips out of the plastic bag.

When the soup gently simmered on the hob, the phone rang. It was Marco. He was a friend of Lu’s, and they had had something going at some point, but they decided to remain friends thereafter. He played the clarinet in a small Palermitan pop group.

‘Are you still after a given lad who sings you one with his mandolin?!’ he asked. She knew that he was still a bit jealous of her, so she decided to change the subject. ‘Come round for parsnip soup this evening at 7’, she said instead.

He arrived at 7pm. They ate the parsnip soup, and at five past 7 Piero shouted ‘Lucia’ outside of her bedroom window. ‘Lucia isn’t here’, Marco shouted out of the window. ‘She doesn’t look for someone who’s maaaried.’ In this very instant, Piero caught a glimpse of Marco’s Moped, and left –.

Klaus K.


I guess I'am one of the readers who hang out under your doorstep. The taste of ingenuity is irresistible.
Best regards, Klaus

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