's been three months since I got married, ten since I moved out three months that I do not see Italy. Sitting on the train
Milano Porta Genova-Alessandria watching people, the streets outside, the bathroom of the train, I hear two friends chatting, a lady on the phone, sounds new and old sounds mixed. I feel like when after a month of plenty of holiday you go home and spaces for years lived at first glance seem foreign to us, for, almost hostile. Today
dissected everything that surrounds me and I see him again in relativity 'of our little worlds.
problems I see are nonsense and smiles that hide tragedies.
All'areoporto Bergamo I was smoking a cigarette waiting for the departure of the shuttle-Milan Orio Center, a suitcase by my side.
"What time?" I ask the driver who is selling the tickets.
"At forty," he says.
"Then I can finish a cigarette"
The trunk of the bus was loaded with suitcases stacked and did not seem polite to throw my huge trolley with his free hand on other cases, threatening to crush souvenirs, cosmetics or hair dryer others.
"I can place it over the other?" I ask the driver, with which normally 'forbidden to speak, but when selling tickets you can'.
"Sure," replies "I put thee."
"Sorry" I say "I did not want to use the lowest demand as an excuse to help me, I was finishing the cigarette, I would have done! "
"If we want to go deep within me is fine," said the gentleman with the dark skin and eyes from cattle.
"No, I said" excuse lowest "non-intimate" I interrupt.
"Ah, and vabbe ', Underwear, underwear, who cares gotta joke right? Son of Calabria, I like to joke"
"Of course, if you do not mess around"
"Miiinchia" warms up "here is not no joke, I came to Milan six months ago. To one who lives across the building's face: "Good morning", no. He does not salute the most '. Here there' sense of family. "
says he must remain in Milan for a serious cause and that if I could go to Tropea. It says that the fog brings sadness. He says.
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