a little snow was falling as I sat in the bar of the Bologna train station, a few days ago. A cup of coffee in her hands while people ran in front of me incessantly. Every now and then threw his eyes on the bag left at the entrance, but more often I was thinking the night before. the feelings embedded in the skin, the veins in a circle in each corner of the body. The words, the hands that, as a sort of dance, could not help but near misses, the snow-covered square, empty but full of something else. And, totally immersed in that feeling of infinite beauty, I was able to realize that my train had arrived just in time. A race and a final smile behind that window that was fogged carried away with me.