Frecciarossa I'm on, the Bologna - Venezia. The train is not crowded. My seat on the corridor. I would like to relax and read, but businessmen, probably from Campania, speak fearfully strong. I am forced to listen.
" But whom are you speaking? The one who has divorced two months ago? "
" Oh, chill, Ninuzzo. "
" Ah, sin, divorce ... But much is still young. But it is a relative of Dominic? "
" No, not at all relative ... "
" Come on, chill is related to Domenico. "
Domenico spoke next to me, that seemed to sleep. He speaks and continues to keep his eyes closed.
" Nonsense you say? I hardly knew him. "
" But it's not your brother? "
" is that being brother and family now? "
...
Two seats in front of me small trash can next to the folding table continues to wobble during the race, sending an annoying rattling noise. Pass the controller for tickets: stops at bins broken. Snorts.
takes one of those magazines free consultation, you can turn to fill those few minutes of boredom. It pulls strongly on a page. Everyone is amazed.
Fold the foil up to make a square and places it behind the bin, stopping the wobble. No more metallic trill. I hear him mutter, between the satisfied and annoyed: "And they say that culture is no longer needed at all."
...
On the train Udine sat beside the window. There is a magnificent sun, I am in short sleeves. I think what is nice to travel alone. I follow with my eyes the transformation of the landscape, from country to heavy and dense fields of open spaces, relaxed.
I am amazed by the size of the bed of the Tagliamento. A desert of gravel, white, which forces me to wear sunglasses for a better look.
The land here and there is marked by streams of water, messy parts of the river that broke off, resurface, come together. Not a plant, not an animal. In the end, barely visible in the dog days of February, the Carnian Alps.
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