It's half past ten of a splendid sunny Thursday evening, here in Goteborg. I'm sitting at the desk of my room, up on the XVIII floor of the west tower of Gothia Hotel. On the table I have spread coke, peanuts, cables, notebooks, restaurant tickets, bus tickets, train tickets, taxi receipts, a mobile, remote controllers, a compact camera and this diabolic tool into which I'm pouring my current thoughts.
Outside is still day. From the window panes I have in front of me a splendid stretch of colours from deep blue to red that I wouldn't be able to express with a B&W photograph (as I'm used to do) reminds me to be in Scandinavia.
Photo, (C) Tiberio Fanti
It's my last evening here before my holidays. I'm tired. I'll stay put here to watch the light dimming on the town. I've been working and travelling so much this week. Today I crossed the country from Karlstad, up in the middle of everything, to a ghostly town named Hallsberg (which, to me, listening to the local pronunciation, sounds like "the mountain of the devil") to wait for another train that led me here. Tomorrow I'll get back to a hateful, steamy and damned hot Milan.
I was wishing to give a call to Mr. Urbano and see where he's going to rest his bones, this summer, but I failed. I've been shadowed by some colleagues now and then. Not a good reason, I know. I'm not good at lying. That's my greatest regret.
I was wishing to give a call to Mr. Urbano and see where he's going to rest his bones, this summer, but I failed. I've been shadowed by some colleagues now and then. Not a good reason, I know. I'm not good at lying. That's my greatest regret.
Well, I urgently need for a long Midsommar break. Now it's time to have some sun & salt burning my skin. Back in couple of weeks.
No comments:
Post a Comment