Two English people were sitting in a cafe on St Marc's Square in Venice.
She, was beautiful, with curly hair and olive eyes, Denise.
He, was truly English, white skin, kind of gold hair, lilac eyes with a serious and selfish look, James.
It was early evening and a street singer was signing one of his enchanted romantic songs about eternal love.
James: Oh, I hate all this talking about love, - what is it all about? People are just obsessed wih it, why? I think, "love" was made up for marketing and trade purposes. The idea of "romantic" love didn't trully exist before the 19th century when it was used by a quite bisexual group of poets to describe their unusual feeling. and then after the WWII in this world of commerce businessmen are using it to sell products, books, fragrances, lingerie, flowers.
Denise didn't say anything to that, she was listening to the song.
But when singer left, she turned to sunshine that was escaping behind Palacio Ducalle and said:
Love is walking with a child in the morning. It's acting on stage in front of the audience. It's giving honest and wise advice for people in need. It's writing a letter to a friend. It's hugging your lover at the end of sex. It's being true and only yourself.
James: Fuck the world and it will fuck you back, love the world and it will love you back in return - same shit. To sum up - "love" is just a word, one of many.
Denise: Yeah, right. And first was Word. And it was God.