My early memories of Europe were formed by experiences I never had. My first walks through Paris were all virtual reality: I pored over books of graphic, moody and seedy street photography by the incredible grab-masters André Kertész, Eugène Atget, Henri Cartier-Bresson and Brassaï. Now I continue to look for the Europe of that lens, no matter how modern it gets. If I have a hotel room with a street view, I always look down before I look out.  On this early morning in Florence, I woke up to the flat-tire sound of delivery trucks bumping over wet cobblestones ( setts for pedants). I opened the casement window and smelled the oddly metallic rinse of European rain. I looked and saw solitary figures making their way on blue-washed streets past a local perfume shop. Fellow humans on their way to...what? Work, school, a lover? I ran for my camera.