[ There are cars, cast in what looks like wrought-iron with motors that hiss and tick: not exactly streamlined, but with an organic quality that make them look handmade, crafted. Gus doesn't seem to think anything of any discrepancy that may or may not exist, of course, and he meanders through the street with an ease that suggests that this is nothing out of the ordinary. ]

You, [ he says, perhaps with a sense of knowing. ] need to get out more.

[ And he grins, wide and languid, before gesturing and trotting down the nearest side street. ]

So! Where d'you want to go? Cafe? Restaurant? Patisserie? Go see the gardens? The Basilica?