entering the dome il carabiniere shouted at me: ma che cosa fai! and fumbled my knapsack but wasn’t good either – va fa’n culo! and I lingered in san marcus square with the pigeons perched on my head and my shoulders long enough for sabrina to see me

when father got out with the gait of a retired Indian the spectacles in his mouth we had an involtino at 3 euros each one lots of cheese he said and on the tiny ship a flame burst out

I was wearing the black t-shirt with viva italia in chinese plastic just when the boat entered the cemetery-island and the girl vanished into the dark riding the yacht’s bow as a lagoon