it was the kind of like the laugh you and your two companions laughed when the proprietor of the humble restaurant in Florence placed with a thump that massive glass jug of red wine onto the table and then proceeded to drop a ruler down into it so as to be able to gauge the amount of wine consumed and, thus, the amount owed at evening’s end.
or it could have been the kind of laugh you laughed while weaving through the medieval streets of Florence at one thirty or so in the morning because the three of you for some unknown reason found saying the word “comprendere” really loud was hilarious, leading all of you to take turns shouting “Comprendere! Comprendere!” into the city’s deserted side streets.
but it was probably like the laugh you laughed to yourself the next day while waiting for the train back to Paris, wondering if some Florentine had been awoken late at night to the voices of three drunk Americans shouting “Comprendere! Comprendere!” and had consequently laid in bed and stared at the ceiling while asking (in Italian of course) no one in particular, “Understand what? What is it that I need to understand?”