Trafika Europe 14 - Italian Piazza

Nicola Lagioia

Maybe an oversized records room, emptied out at the last second, to which had been added a bed, a bedside table, and a television stand. Each of which now emanated the dreary aura of objects out of place. They got him settled in the bed, vanished for a few hours. In the afternoon, a nurse came in carrying a tray with coffee and grapefruit juice. He furrowed his brow and glared at her. He pushed aside the tray, freeing up his line of sight. “What a pathetic excuse for a screen.” He asked them to replace the television set. The next day two attendants were carrying in a 32-inch set fresh from the mall. When the head physician came by to see him again, Orazio asked to have the nurse stationed outside the door. His request was granted. The next day, the head physician returned, escorted by two men in dark suits. Under the jacket of the first man he glimpsed a dangling hem that looked very much as if it, too, might belong to a labcoat. The second man was in his early fifties, and his hair was brylcreemed. Notable polka-dot tie, chunky-toothed smile. He introduced himself: “I’m Engineer Ranieri.” They started talking. The first man felt called upon to lower the shades, thinning the light. At this point, no one was bringing up blood alcohol levels. At the rec center, no one was making any more wisecracks about the possibility that the crash had been fatal mostly for his memory. Those jokes had

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