will be replicas of Crime Novel, will be the middle-aged, will be the ideas collected from other peers on Facebook, will be the morning fog, but are suddenly joined by a wave of nostalgia for San Paolo. San Paolo Ostiense, the neighborhood of my youth, most of the neighborhood of my roots. And the nostalgia, whimsical, m'investe intermittently (without resorting to Proust, which I have not read), dressed in a motley jumble of names, episodes and characters without a story set in bulk. I do not know where to start, so I commend to synapses, without revision chronological nor logical. The palaces of Serafini, opposite the Royal Navy, er Bridge (from Valco San Paolo Via Laurentina), Ambria the baker, Peppe er the basin (de Velletri), Arfons er barber, Luis (the femminiello) Faticoni (the painter he told jokes that only he made her laugh), and Mrs. Concetta Giorgia (the doors of the palace of my grandmother), ITIS Armellini and urban Indians, the rock festival on Largo Beato Placido Riccardi dawn of the '70s The must-steel pizza commendable Gemini, the Market Hall Street Ephesus, by Filippi and high school friends, Largo Enea Bortolotti - Bortolotti tout court - the core of the party of parties pomicianti, the courtyard of the building in Via Filippo Eredia meteorologist, the endless games of football on the asphalt street Nistri - "the road dead," for us and for our mothers - before what would have been my high school a few years later, the stadium of Eucalyptus, and off Veratti mauvais garçons by nicknames more or less eloquent - Sciara, Perfume , Er Milanese, Squarciagatti, Er Faina - via a Valco St. Paul and the school Edmondo de Amicis (no more), Alfa Romeo (no more), the INA Homes via Corinth and surrounding area, the infamous and yet so familiar Wish Bar (the surname of the owners) at the exit of the high school where we stopped to buy a Dalek for 100 lire, Pince Street (as it was termed , even after someone had discovered that the emphasis was on I) and the buildings of the FATA, the Post Office and Post Office nine (new time), the barracks of Vicolo Savini, tank ship, the IMO, the Cineetivvù, the eleventh high school-er Kepler or simply the Eleventh, the Boat Show - the school of the beams, Socrates (branch) of my high school, Marconi bridge crossing on sunny afternoons winking eyes like Clint Eastwood, the Cinodromo, the center of San Tarcisio and those small, hidden gardens, where I often saw when I was holed up in school, the Oratory of St. Paul, where I saw the priests cinemino 7 times "For a Fistful of Dollars "and then" The Sound of Music "and dozens of Franco and Ciccio, cinema via Chiabrera Madison (where he was one of the bars frequented by the gang of Magliana) where I saw" The Godfather "and" Jesus Christ Superstar ", the "louse" Tirreno (third run) Via Pellegrino Matteucci where I saw "Seraphim" and "Er More" unexplained break-ins in the vernacular of milanopugliese Celentano Roman and Burin, the Metro, wonderful door to emancipation from the district towards the most exciting: the center of Rome on the one hand, the EUR and the Ionian Sea, 23, the bus route from the monster - via Pincherle / Piazzale Clodius - then almost a diameter of Rome known already from the 97 that took only 9 years (sic) me to go to adjust the braces on Tiber Island, or getting to see the training from 'in Rome at the Tre Fontane, 55 that my great-aunt and my mother still called the ELLE and became the 170 and then that came from Sao Paulo to the square of the Muses on the Parioli district, the kiosk Valco watermelons in San Paolo, putting up a sign with a poem / slogan that I still remember by heart after several decades
"Favorite cocommero
which is er 'n fruit prelibbato,
red, granite, sugar
ar a real chocolate slice
supertonica
fresh you only conzola
pe 'Daje' n vo ce mozzicate
'the bavarola.
Maybe something will surface later, but on this little old world where watermelons were just round and dark green, I close the chapter. With a grateful smile, no sadness.
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