There used to be at least one company in the area of New York City from which you could order a mattress by telephone and have it delivered to your residence in two hours.
Sleep doesn't come so easily, or so cheaply, in Venice. Or at least mattresses don't, as I was reminded this morning by the sight of the man above using his own boat to avoid the substantial delivery fees charged by commercial services.
Assuming he picked up his mattress from a truck at Tronchetto, at the westernmost edge of the city, he had quite a way to go down the Grand Canal with his rather precariously-attached load to what seemed to be some destination in Castello in the vicinity of the Arsenale. (Hence the title of this post borrowed from Robert Frost, who was not thinking of Venice or boats when he wrote it.)
No doubt he saved a good deal of money doing it himself, but I like to imagine there might be an additional benefit. Having transported his bed himself, it will be forever associated in his mind with the movement of a boat upon the water: the rocking, the surges, the rolling that I've noticed hardly ever fails to put children to sleep in the course of an evening boat ride, and that, recollected while lying upon the very bed he thus transported, might do wonders for even an adult insomniac.