I"m feeling down. Best to go for a walk, to clear my mind a little. I walk between the buildings, like a shabby and crazy old man. A girl is waiting for her crouching dog. The wind ruffles her hair, caresses the immature shape of her butt. I turn into Piazza Duomo and I go around from Via Alghero. I smell bread. They’ve opened a new bakery. The owner is on the threshold. He has thin hair and as he breathes his belly presses against the buttons of a shirt with a crumpled collar. He looks around, then throws his cigarette towards the middle of the street. It ends up in a manhole. I catch my reflection in front of the window. I have an ankle-length coat and there are dark circles under my eyes. I look like a living image of Nosferatu. I am somatizing the anger of this ugly story. I should dis
