Each night we go under the porticos and after the night is consumed in a flash of lights and…the night consumes us, you know? Don’t think that it’s time to rest. Our day, those of us who are here, who are seen and unseen in the crowd, doesn’t have common rhythms. Sleep has to be diluted during the twenty-four hours…like smiles and the lack of worries. The tooth is a dervish in the thickened mouth. Me, I have the spirit of a traveller, what do you think… I took after my father. The station, in my opinion, is a place of departures, you never arrive, you always leave. I would live it that way. I who have arrived. The whistle of a train.
Valerio Maggio – trans. Marica Fantauzzi