Trafika Europe 14 - Italian Piazza

The Man at One Kelvin Degrees forward. At that moment, on the floor, some forty avatars were creating – with admirable skill – veritable abstract choreography. They gave the impression that dancing united them into a single living being, like some strange colony of aliens breathing through the music. The jazz amplified this sensation, transforming itself into a series of rhythmic chords devoid of any tonal scheme. Suddenly I felt a presence at my side. A female avatar clad in drops of light had materialized beside me. “Officer,” she said, “or should I call you Detective?” How wonderful that she’d approached me of her own accord. I couldn’t wait to devote myself to my resplendent guest. “Countess,” I said, “or should I call you Alessandra?” “How the devil do you know my name?” “Does it matter?” I asked. “Why are you here?” “I need to talk to you.” “OK, let ’s talk”. “No, not here. There’s too much noise, too many people.”

“Then come to my house at nine o’clock.” “To your real house, in the real world?”

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