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So last night I was walking down the street in Milan, looking for a late-night snack. Saw a tent sign for a Kebab place standing next to a cardboard standup cutout of Fonzie, which I thought was a bit strange, but stood next to it trying to decipher the sign for 15 seconds or so.

When I turned to leave I looked at the standup of Fonzie. Turns out it wasn’t Fonzie at all, but a leather jacket-clad Italian man standing abnormally still and looking very, very cool, and I was standing uncomfortably close to him the entire time. Literally six inches, shoulders touching slightly.

How I didn’t notice it was a real person and not cardboard is beyond me. I jumped back startled, started laughing at myself and saying a bunch of stuff in English, not realizing he wouldn’t understand a word of it. He gave me a puzzled look, smirked, and shook his head. Then I had a Mozzarillo.

I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t high. I have no excuse.