Stefano

Gian Stefano Brigidi is an Italian from Rhode Island. He is in the second year of his Ph.D. in neuroscience, which is how he met Kevin and came to live in the palace. He works with rats, and every Tuesday he gets a little glum, because that's the day he has to kill them. Stefano skateboards when the weather is nice, and has a certain smile you'll only see when he's dancing. He usually showers at least twice a day because he says Italians are greasy, so he always smells wonderful. He is an excellent hugger.
Stefano is a master of cuisine. I could write a poem about the way he cooks chicken; the spices, oh and the pasta! A Tuscan dream, the pasta is. He keeps his wooden spatula on his grocery shelf, away from the other, less magical utensils. He keeps special spices in his room upstairs. The best part of all this is that when you compliment him gushingly on his cooking, he will sometimes respond not in words, but in hand gestures. First he will motion towards you or the food, hand outstretched, palm up, as if to say, "well, you know". Then he will kiss his fingers and lift them towards the ceiling, basking in the truth of your words, and in his own culinary artistry. This is something to see.
Stefano also likes the following things to a slightly abnormal degree: the noise city buses make, hummus and pita, white v-necks (he owns thirteen, and a few in other colours), sesame snaps, stories of my many awkward incidents, action movies (we call this man time), and being gangster.

Some choice quotes
Tipsy and reaching for the beer fridge:
Let's get this boat- ...whatever... going.
Later that same night, out of nowhere in no particular context:
We're like ABBA.
Regarding city buses:
You see, the older diesel engined buses, and the newer articulated buses are powered by these massive displacement turbo engines that just sound marvelous. I think the older ones are air-cooled, and so they take on a sound similar to that of old Porsche 911s, raspy, hard, and loud.
After meeting Kevin's girlfriend Jessica for the second time, as she is leaving:
It was nice m- seeing you... again... (looks at his hands in confusion and embarrassment) how...?
Via text message, saying goodbye on the day he goes home for Christmas:
You are a desert flower.