Luca
“Turn right here,” Isabella says when we reach the intersection. “It’s there, just next to the big flower shop.”
I follow her directions and park in front of the building with a glass façade. Even from the outside, it’s visible that the restaurant is high-end kind of place. Each car parked in the lot is priced at more than a hundred grand. I can’t see the inside because the glass is mirrored, but I know it has black wood finishings and tall ceilings with fancy iron chandeliers. In the center, there’s a huge round space with an open ceiling where the best tables are set. I know all that without having any recollection of ever visiting the place. I’ve been here. Before.
It's taken me some time to accept the concept of before. The first few days after the crash, I was sure my memory w
