Vito’s friend looked back: “Yes it is.”
They both sat there in peace and silence, the two old friends with a life long friendship between them. Vito’s life had been one of great travels and knowing thousands of people all embodied in himself, as he sat there as an old man. His friend was a more soft and thoughtful type, having a life of smaller movements and more subtle nuances and feelings in him, spread over the decades like a little mosaic of a calm landscape in modest colors. They were both sitting there, breathing slowly and watching the life of the piazza and the trees along one side, with branches hanging over the tables and chairs outside the coffee shops and restaurants.
(This is from the opening of the story of the two old friends.)