No stars are seen tonight in the sky over Prater, in Vienna. It's August. "That" night was a night at the end of May. I was not there. My father told me about it. Ever since I was a child. And that time we saw them together in Madrid. Stars seen and stars told of. The stars you dream of. The stars chased on a bicycle and almost touched in the height of the Dolomite nights. The stars between Vesuvius and the sea. One hundred and fifty stars and starfish. The trail of a shooting star seen through the eyes of a girl, which now illuminates the sky and the streets of Rome. And of every city.
Neapolitan, born in 1978. Manager at Leonardo. Lover of Inter, of the bicycle, of Francesco De Gregori and Vasco Brondi