The Italian immigrant, “the loud mouth,” as some liked to call him, was a wise and opinionated old man. Greyish white tuffs of hair surrounded the outermost part of his head, along with a thick row above his lip to match. Mr. Gabardino, as some others liked to call him, was envied for his ability to be able to say anything and everything, and yet still be respected by all whom he encountered. His short stature had no effect on his hearty appetite. A true Italian he was, and if a single person ever forgot, he or she was reminded by the smell of fresh tomato sauce that filled the air from his apartment almost every night; Mrs. Gabardino made sure he ate well. He ran the table for Sunday dinners and his grandchildren always knew how to behave around him. They knew well that if his already deep brown eyes turned black, there would be no tiramisu for dessert. Despite his love for pasta, he wasn’t round around the edges and kept his small frame in good shape.