Saturday afternoons are made out of pasta...

They sit and drink wine in a modest little Italian place set back from the waterfront. This is a place where life comes to while away the hours, relaxing in its own company and bathing in its own warmth; heedless of itself. This is a place where Saturday afternoons are made out of pasta and where great deeds are made out of words. The sun shines lazily upon the streets and through its windows.