Two men walk from the left of the piazza carrying a large bag that I assume contains a double bass, not a body surely, although the bag is big enough.
A woman in a short blue dress with very long brown hair has been standing in the centre of the piazza in front of her old black bicycle (with a wicker basket naturally). The two men stop behind this self-aware and photogenic ensemble, exchange glances with each other and walk slowly in a circle around her. She pays no attention.
There is a pair of very large fountains in the piazza, they are composed from enormous marble rings, each containing a vast Roman bath and a 16th century single fountain with a sort of Fleur de Lys shape. To the side of the left hand fountain, a family with their back to the water feature is admiring a small, new, grey Fiat.
A man in a blue shirt, an almost identical colour but different pattern to the short blue skirt, cycles up to greet its wearer. They cycle off together towards the Campo dei Fiori, his bicycle has no basket.
A nun from Santa Birgittae comes out to water the palms. The headdress is a white affair that quarters the head to hold on the black cloth that billows down the shoulders. The white crisscross formation and encircling band (I think it is called a chaplet) looks like that protective headgear that front row forwards wear in rugby, I assume nuns don’t wear mouth guards as well.
Two elderly nuns of a different order, (all white gowns, black headdress no head protection) are chatting up the soldiers. The nuns are enjoying themselves hugely. The soldiers (all body armour, beret and machine guns) are deeply embarrassed and keep looking at their boots and blushing. The nuns walk away smiling broadly, I’m sure the one with the stick would swish it in the air if she could.
There is a vigorous football game going on by the right hand fountain. Two boys have taken the space between a lamppost and their bicycles to make a goal. The goalkeeper certainly needs the practice, his net is the very expensive wine bar. The ball keeps banging against the elegant planters that mark the entrance; this is not going down well.