I have not even used to think of the sea as a past life. Still live on the Adriatic, at least officially. I still have a room from which you can watch the river, and a bicycle to ride to the mouth. But I also have an apartment on the sixth floor, the intersection with. The only way in which the city does seem to be in town. I have a window to watch the towers and skyscrapers, was the eternal flame of Montedison. I have a baker in the house but it costs too much.
I never thought before, when I was safe to inhabit the sea, but I realize now:
I was fifteen, sixteen. During the winter we met every afternoon all'Arador. The local administration has now changed, but this time it was still negotiating with the choice of music Albano, owner, and fall asleep on the couch at home, taking off shoes. We drank coffee, we made fun of, but almost always ended up to be bored with each other. Every day we were there, always the same and always the same to ourselves. That particular monotony had a taste that I did not find more, and is perhaps the only thing I miss those years. We spent hours, months, lying in a kind of cold numbness, as though time had frozen around us. We went walking on the beach, so that was twenty yards from the bar and wishing you could go back (which happened regularly, as soon as we got tired of the sand or the air dragged around). We walked along the shore, or higher, where the wind piled the dunes. Every time we decided to sit down, and we sat to chat until it was possible, until the bora starts to scratch the face. The beach is divided in two over the world. On the one hand the sea, the other the theory of closed hotels, apartments vacant. We always sat with her back to the sea. We never talked, we realized there is none. There was spontaneous and we never asked why. We looked at hotels closed.
