Milan, September 2018Andrea had arrived in Milan a few days ago. The city was more hectic than ever and he leaned into its frenzied pace by throwing himself into his work, with one thought in his mind: finishing early in order to dedicate his last days here to Alessandra.
On the ninth, the plane from Paris landed with a certain delay because of the fog. Andrea waited for her impatiently in his hotel room, feeling suspended. As he lay on the bed, he wished for a cigarette so he could watch the smoke drift up to the ceiling, but he’d never smoked in his life, so he got up and started pacing nervously to and from the window, opening and closing the curtains. He looked at the Basilica of Sant’ Ambrogio, its lovely arches and mosaics wrapped in the fog and almost invisible now.
Finally, at a
