Comes a Horseman
Comes a Horseman
“A moist breeze coming off the Mediterranean made the air feel warmer than the 68 degrees reported by the large digital thermometer outside Bank Hapoalim’s Romanesque headquarters on Rothchild Boulevard. Day-trippers lingered on Gordon Beach, savoring a final plunge into the surf or one last sandy-toed stroll before heading inland to their homes. The office workers who had gone home to shower and change would soon reemerge to fill the many nightclubs on Hayarkon Street. Tel Avivians often surpri...sed visiting Westerners with their cosmopolitan lifestyle and insatiable passion for merriment. They believed the day was for hard work, the night for cutting loose and taking it easy.
Except for Luco Scaramuzzi.
Ensconced in his private workout room in the Italian Embassy, he pushed at the limits of his strength and endurance. Rivulets of sweat tracked the sharp contours of his muscles like winter runoff—slicking over straining biceps, quadriceps, pectorals. They poured off his face and ran, glistening, through the fine black hair that swirled over his chest and stomach, soaking the waistband of his cotton gym shorts.MoreLess
Except for Luco Scaramuzzi.
Ensconced in his private workout room in the Italian Embassy, he pushed at the limits of his strength and endurance. Rivulets of sweat tracked the sharp contours of his muscles like winter runoff—slicking over straining biceps, quadriceps, pectorals. They poured off his face and ran, glistening, through the fine black hair that swirled over his chest and stomach, soaking the waistband of his cotton gym shorts.MoreLess
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