Trafika Europe 14 - Italian Piazza

FEROCITY

been made at first. He’d tell the story and the others would shake their heads. One of them had gotten hold of a copy of the paper from the day when the news report should have been published. “Well?” He slapped the counter with the rolled-up paper. There they are, the things that happened that day. An out- of-work man had set fire to himself outside the Apple Store on Corso Vittorio Emanuele. The daughter of a well-known builder and developer had killed herself by jumping off the top tier of a parking structure. There was also a car crash on a highway, but on the Autostrada Adriatica. No reports of a girl on State Highway 100 at two in the morning—neither naked, nor dressed, nor blood-smeared, nothing at all. “So, Ora’, do you want to tell us what really happened?” But a few weeks later, Orazio had moved house. From the one-bedroom apartment in the old part of the city he’d moved into an airy apartment overlooking Via d’Aquino. The only problem was that there was no elevator. Absurd as it seems, he only realized it the second time he tried to climb the stairs, hobbling up them on his crutches. He didn’t like it one bit. Three months later, a team of construction workers was hard at work on the scaffolding that rose up the side of the apartment building. To anyone not convinced by the stump of his leg, this was more than adequate.

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