one

In a room shaded by heavy wooden blinds that barely let a ray of light filter through here and there, a man in his thirties carefully packs his clothes into a suitcase; patiently and meticulously placing his folded shirts over something he wants to both protect and hide. He rubs his still sleepy face with both hands, runs his fingers through his hair, straightens out his sweater and moves to the door, casting one last look to the bed where a woman is lying on her side, her back turned to him, facing the window. She seems not to be breathing, but she is just sleeping soundly, dreaming of something she most probably won’t remember in the morning. One could say that she had drunk a lot last night, and then she loosened her dress – one of those that women, well-used to their fastenings, shed easily, but men have trouble with, and after the dress, she loosened her tongue. It all happened so quickly, and ended even quicker. Afterwards, she drifted into sleep and he into a night of waiting for the dawn so that he could leave. With the first ray of sunlight, he left the room.

two

The road rumbled downhill from the hostel and then snaked toward a small square, from where the street turned right as if it wanted to escape the hill studded with small houses, balconies and shops.

In front of the first tavern in the narrowest street in the place, a drab-looking ingenuous drunk, just a bit older than him, tripped over him and they both stumbled as if they were going to fall, but they hastily straightened up, one man grabbing his suitcase more firmly, the other sending a guileless stare as if seeking a spark of understanding for what just happened in the other’s eyes. The owner of the tavern standing in the doorway shouted at the local bum, and the man said no harm done, it could happen to anyone.

“That guy is completely nuts!”

“It’s okay, I’ve always had a soft spot for crazy people”, said the man in a soothing voice with no clear boundary between the literal and sarcastic.

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