In the coffeehouses of Istanbul last week Turks sipped their thick coffee with two-fold satisfaction. Word had got around that in Italy, where all the caffè espresso machines have long been cold, Italians were singing under their breath a mournful song. The song:
When in Rome a King held sway,
I drank coffee every day.
An Emperor he became as well,
Still I sniffed the coffee smell.
When he seized Albania's land,
Even that mere smell was banned.
If Benito stays, I know,
Even the coffee pot will go.
...
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