Or Jump to the First of May.
The big concert. The "Concertone".
Jump to me that turn my back on the mega stage, on the mega screen and on the mega chaos. There are seven hundreds thousand people that jump, watch, sit down, seven hunderds thousand different faces. Jump to me that I'm looking for a person in particular.
Jump to 5 pm when I convince myself that I should have some injections of the protease that processes the delirium of the concerts. I do not move.
Jump to the sky that there was, a sequence of cumulonimbus and cirrocumulus heated and whitened by the sun behind, that now you see, now you dont, now you see it. Cumulonimbus and cirrocumulus, they are clouds
Jump to 7 pm, when Bella Ciao (a traditional partisan song, ndr) brings me to mosh pitt and chaos, because of the emotive involvement. Also physical, involvement.
Jump to me that I continue to look for this person in particular, I'm sure I've just seen her right there, then I turn and, no. Isn't her.
Jump to a guy with the little beard, lowered on his legs, spinning his arms, that rustles on me for about twenty second. Smelling rhum. Jump to Riccardo that didn't recognize that.
Jump to the police guys and to the pushers that become nervous. Jump to the before-concert, the plaza and the light that there was in the morning. Jump to the after-concert, the empty beer bottles the sleep, the nap in the underground at 1.30 am.
Jump to the 9 pm when the Afterhours arrived, the mosh pitt made by four people, me that I'm one of this four.
Jump to the afternoon when we meet Chiara, that we haven't seen for three years and that went studying in Bologna, meanwhile. She has lost her backpack, and she drags us in the crowd, we cross the hole plaza vertically, diagonally, horizontally, my feet hurt.
Jump back to the strange sky, get back the cirrocumulus. Jump to the fact that I felt like the sky, that wasn't sure to rain or to shine, now yes now no, don't know.
Photo by fanny
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