Here is a tale from the world of Samoa. Samoa is mostly populated by Italians.
I, Giusa Rosi, am a thirty-nine-year-old woman. I have black hair. I have green eyes. I stand 146 centimetres tall. I am somewhat reluctant to accept new ideas. I am easily disturbed or irritated.
Baffaele Bianchiccino is a fifteen-year-old boy. He has black hair. He has green eyes. He stands 184 centimetres tall. He is very open to new ideas and experiences.
I do not know Baffaele Bianchiccino very well. I scorn Baffaele Bianchiccino. I do not trust Baffaele Bianchiccino.
One thousand three hundred sixty-four seconds ago, I walked to Lita.
Seven hundred fifty-four seconds ago, I met Baffaele Bianchiccino. Then, Baffaele Bianchiccino and I walked to Rovo.
Ten seconds ago, Baffaele Bianchiccino kicked me. I kicked Baffaele Bianchiccino.
Clearly, I have been focusing more on the story itself rather than the writing style (no serious author would mark up each line with the exact number of seconds ago the event took place).