On the way home I keep thinking about Black, questioning every word of her.
Passing in the first place because today I have again left late, I have again been late to the bus that combines with the metro that I must take every day to go and return from my work (when it is not in my boss's car) which, between one thing and the other, has delayed me for more than an hour and a half on my return home. One more time. Hour and a half that does not recognize it in the extra payment but in the name of Vittorino that I wear. Luckily mom will be asleep by the time I get home.
Said and done.
Everything is silent, the lights are off and I take off my shoes so that the rattling against the Mosaic does not wake them. However, the voice of mom calling me gives me the guideline that she has not yet fa
