Annibale could guess he was from the south, the moment he heard it. Before he didn't realize. "You're from Sicily?" 

Frankie laughs and slaps Annibale on the shoulder. “Yes, you got it! It’s really obvious, isn’t it? So what did you think of my decidedly Sicilian-American approach to pizza? How does it compare to what you usually have in your hometown?”

He smiled. "It's good, not quite what I have at home but you're from a different region. I've never seen or had Sicilian food in my life and regions do matter." 

Even this far from home, he was glad to meet an Italian. 

“Yes, they do. Most people here on the Lower East Side are from Southern Italy, so I guess I haven’t really been exposed to people from other regions, either. So maybe what I think is Italian is actually just Sicilian. That’s just part and parcel of living in an immigrant community, I guess. It’s sort of limiting in some ways, kind of like living in a bubble that’s trapped in the past. I’ve always wanted to know what living in Italy would be like, as opposed to just being the son of immigrant Sicilian parents, which is quite different.” Frankie looks thoughtful as he gazes out the window and then back at the posters on the back wall.

“So how do you find the United States so far”? Frankie downed a glass of water. 

"Different, a land of opportunity in its own way. They do not seem to care much about where you're from or even who your parents are. Back home, once you left Italy, people looked at you differently," Annibale finished his cup of wine. "You're not part of some great power, but one of the weakest nations that just happened to unify through not even arms of force but diplomacy. If we didn't exist, our masters would still be the Austrians. But I guess you would know much less than I do of their domination." 

Annibale still had an entire bottle. "Do you want a glass?"

Frankie raised an eyebrow before nodding. “Yes, I do.” He lets Annibale pour him some. “Thanks. Regarding your points - I see. That’s very fascinating.” In reality, he was a bit baffled by what the stranger had just said - it went above his head. Something about the Austrians, he said, but what did that have to do with America? Domination? Maybe he was referring to some kind of war or something. He didn’t know - Frankie had never really paid attention during his history classes, which only covered American history for the most part.

“Yeah, I guess America’s not as good as people think it is. I don’t know about weak though. Lots of people come here, so I guess there must be something good about this place. Or at least better than the places people left. But is there really a perfect country? So in your view, what’s the strongest nation?” Frankie was genuinely curious to know. 

Annibale took a sip. "There isn't a perfect country, everyone has their advantages and drawbacks. I'm sure you'll have much to say about America that I don't know. but I'm still proud to be an Italian despite it all. But I understand why people want to leave, if they feel they have no opportunity back home."

Frankie nodded, thinking about his parents and how they had come to the United States from an impoverished small town a few hours away from Palermo. “That’s very right. I think a lot of people do what they have to do, regardless of whether they go to another country or not.” He paused and looked at Annibale squarely in the eye. “So how is Italy now? What I know of small-town Siciliy is probably very different from where you came from, from big-city Rome. Are things stable? How’s the economy?”