The man from Nice pushes a cart of flowers and dried leaves on the streets of Spotorno. Wherever he stops, people come out of shops and restaurants and houses with little exclamations of joy, crowding around the cart. The man from Nice explains in Italian with a French accent where the herbs and the blooms come from. The flowers are wrapped in blue paper, bunches kept in old wooden wine crates. He looks neither happy nor unhappy, but he leaves a scented trail of lavender wherever he goes.