Trafika Europe 14 - Italian Piazza

Frank Iodice

which, however, sti l l stung my palate. I processed again her last words, in the meantime, a more difficult thing, I had to organize my own. She’d also left, therefore, and something had happened that she couldn’t tel l me about on the phone. Already I wasn’t thinking about the stolen box. Perhaps things were happening the way they had with my wife, the more time passed, the more I became convinced that steal ing something from someone already dead wasn’t a crime, maybe not even a sin. Perhaps even Don Vito, as soon as I would tel l him—and I knew not much time would pass before I did—would have absolved me. Mel i told me she was waiting for a cal l from work, but she said the word work the way chi ldren say school. “I have to hang up, I’m waiting for another phone cal l.” “You’re waiting for a bunch of phone cal ls today.” “It ’s only a friend, we’re going to go have a drink together,” she paused and final ly said: “Promise me you’l l cal l me again.” “Wait, I have to talk to you about the books.” Useless. Already hung up. ● Mi lan. Łucas Ciepiela’s photography studio.

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