Wednesday, 28 March 2012


Swallows, squealing, race through the streets and squares of the Centro Storico.

Men sit outside bars on plastic chairs.
They watch and discuss. Not gossip (this distinction is very important).

A group of teens joke with a grey-haired woman who has broken the housewives’ curfew to come out and enjoy the evening.

Her house, I imagine, gleams less than others in her street. And dust mice reside in corners untouched between weekly sweeps. But she is happy to have discovered that there is more to life than cleaning.

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