A stormy cycle tour

On the village square, the young man stood by his bike by the sunlit floral fountain.  In an elderly suit and fedora hat, he looked fairly smart and a little old fashioned.  He carried a big yellow sign saying “Catarella Tours” in big red letters, and the pannier on the back of the bike carried sheafs of leaflets and magazines.  He looked around idly, a foot tapping on the pavement, as he waited for customers.
It was unusually quiet, he thought.  No tour buses at the bus station. Cycle tours along the Po river bank usually drew lots of  cusomers in hot weather, but there was hardly any traffic today. A car drew up across the road, by the cafe, and a girl rolled down the window. “Giulio, hey, are you still waiting there?”
“Yes !  This needs patience, Sandra.”  He snapped his fingers, “Sometimes they just appear like that!”
“Right, but what about Sandra ? Come on, come and sit down” she said and  waved at the café terrace across the road.
He took off his hat and looked at the sky.  The afternooon sun shone through gaps in thick cloud, and a light breeze was chasing leaves down the road.  It looked like rain.  He walked across the empty road, leaning his bike against the lamp-post by the café tables, and sat down.
“So tell me about Sandra then, what’s wrong ?”
She looked surprised.  “Nothing’s wrong !  She said to come over to the barge early, have a drink, help cook maybe?”
“Oh ! Damn. This evening, right? She said come ’round this evening?”
“I can’t believe it. This evening, yes.  We’re invited this evening.  So, let’s go. We can stay on the bunk, she said, because there’s a big storm coming”
“Great, that’s great.  Tell you what, now, I’ll work here a few more hours until sunset, and catch up.  I’ll bring bread.  Is that alright?”
“Giulio, you exaggerate. We planned this weeks ago because her barge  passes today. Not tomorrow. Not yesterday. Then you forget, and  now you’ll be late because you expect to be a tour guide in a storm ?”
“Well, things are just picking up. It’s turning the corner!”
She interrupted “Look Giulio, you never, ever listen!”
Other tables looked around as she raised her voice “A big storm, did you hear me ?  It’s got a name even, it’s called Henry.  Nobody is coming: Give up on this loser bike thing!!”
“Oh, loser am I? Thanks, Giulia. Thanks. You have a good night, IThis loser is going  back to work. Sometimes some encouragement would help.”
“Right! You do that! You waste your life! You never have time for me anyway!”
She stamped off to the car. The car door slammed, and the motor roared off.
Giulio paid the drinks, and went back to his post beside the fountain. Costumers at the café looked at him sympathetically.  He turned away. Well, he better go around to the houseboat not too late, and patch things up.  A man’s got to try and do something in life, just trying to get ahead, he told himself.  Just trying to stay off the dole queue dammit.
The breeze freshened, and the light dimmed.  The sun sank into banks of grey cloud, and big, fat drops of rain started to fall on the pavement. Like big fat squashed insects he thought gloomily, as he wrapped his leaflets in a plastic bag.
Throwing pride to the wind, he hopped on his bike, and cycled off to shelter in the barge.  Tomorrow would be another day.  Storms pass, and arguments would all be forgotten after a good dinner, and a good night’s rest in the storm-tossed barge. And when next day dawned, fresh and sunny, and the endless cycle started again.