is his university days that I wonder about the city hidden. I lived in Bologna and to pay for my studies in 2002, I finished a bit 'by chance to work as a social worker in a dorm every night gave hospitality to thirty men and women finished in the street. Via Lombardia. I remember the blue neon lights that remain lit during the night on the narrow corridor onto which the door of the room and the iron gratings of the windows.
often spend sleepless nights to write. Or listening to music. Along with Gabriel, one of the guests, a forty year old with a history of heroin, neo follower of Jehovah's Witnesses and a great connoisseur of music of the seventies and eighties. He had sold his record collection to buy the stuff, after his father had driven home to yet another assault. But first I had them copied onto tape. That bag of music was his treasure. He kept it locked in the cupboard. At night, when I was on duty, came to visit me. He suffered from insomnia. He arrived with his pajamas axillary, each time bringing three or four different boxes, commenting aloud, between a cigarette and the other, with that toothless mouth. It was he who introduced me to, inter alia, George Gaber.
When I left, two years later, was still hospitalized, the Major, for drug poisoning. He had decided to end it. It is believed to be possessed, because unclean, because it is extremely obsessed with the Solitude sexual, not even love could pay more in touch. And for this he had swallowed in a single blow all the drugs that the doctors at the nursing home had prescribed for depression.
From Bologna I left with a load of memories. The holes fuorivena Franco and accounts of his armed robbery in Milan and Bologna. The hump of Caramel in Naples led the trawlers of the "Maronna" in procession, and that he was completely illiterate. Tales of telephone calls to Maximus for a living had found a part-time job in a line erotica. The joke of Peter, who came off the prostheses had to place the finger every time you shake hands with the newcomers. And the writer of
Clare, who carefully watched the news every night to find out what were the seven men who were free from the seven women who entered the brain during attacks of cluster headache. Until then he had only found one. A Hitler. But he was not completely safe. Why spent whole days in the city libraries in a notebook to copy the German dictionary.
And then the rare tears for Angela, sunk into depression with all its hundred pounds. And the punches are easy to Mario, that every time I go overboard with the alcohol become so troublesome that often leave her to sleep outside on the bench.
Towards a mixture of violence and tenderness, tears and knives, I sentivo debitore. Perché per due anni avevo potuto osservare una città, Bologna, dall’interno della sua periferia più nascosta. Adesso volevo fare lo stesso con Roma, ma senza filtri. Non da operatore sociale. Da viaggiatore.
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