Trafika Europe 14 - Italian Piazza

Frank Iodice

she spend her long afternoon escapes was on the 202, beyond the Palais Nikaia, between shopping centers, in a deserted zone, very hot and immersed in the white noise of the highways, with the humming of cars being l ike seas in storm. If she closed her eyes, she seemed to be at the beach in the Calanques with her parents, l istening to the whistl ing off shore of the boat ful l of curious tourists going to the Island of Montecristo, the Moyenne Corniche frozen with traffic, everyone in the car honking as though it were a Sunday tradition and, final ly, that wind, strong and constant, which had raised her l ike a real mother, supporting her, making her feel her own weight and, thus, her own presence. When she thought back on her adolescence, that rage got reignited. She didn’t know why they ’d taken her to that house with the panoramic view, and, above al l , why she no longer had news of her fami ly. ● Padua, Via Cesare Battisti. Thursday morning. A city ful l of priests, but also of books and people who read them—maybe it wasn’t as sad as it had first seemed. We stopped in another bar, right before the entrance to the Department. Working there was an old man who saluted al l the passersby and found a name for each one of them, nicknames that, at least

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