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After a day sitting in front of the computer, I need to walk. I close the door of my house, go down the stairs, open the main door, go out, turn right, then immediately right again, and after about ten metres, the climb begins. I walk uphill because even at a slow pace, the blood circulates more intensely. It’s a matter of efficiency. More effort in less time and less space.

After an hour and twenty minutes, I am almost back at the starting point. A hundred metres to go. I am in the square. I decide to have a beer sitting at a table in the square’s bar. One of the two, really. But one is closed. But I would have chosen this one anyway. Wider selection of beers. It has the one I like. One of the few I really like. A free table. Among others. Amidst the noise. It’s hot. The sun is still out. I want to stay outside a little longer. I order. I overlook the dirty table. The somewhat superficial service.

In front of me, a table with people of both sexes. Behind me, someone says, “the lady called the ambulance.” I look around. I see nothing. Then a woman on the phone catches my attention. The phone held to her ear in a very arrogant way. Prominent belly from drinking. Small shoulders pulled back and chest out as only an arrogant frontline soldier would want to do to show their worth. She sits back at the table. The one right in front of me. “Xe imbriago.” But the people at the table downplay it. She claims that with such heat, it was better to call the ambulance. From another table, a girl tells her, “but couldn’t you let him sleep it off? He must have smoked.” She turned her head and replied, “lassa star. Scoltime mi xe meio cussì.”

After a while, the ambulance arrives. They open the rear doors and pull out the stretcher. They talk to him. But the answers are not those of someone who cooperates. They tie him to the stretcher. He screams. They load him onto the ambulance. I expect them to leave at any moment. Screaming is heard from inside the ambulance. People murmur. At a certain point, the doors reopen. They let him out and shout at him to leave. Police car siren. They stop. They block traffic because they don’t care about that. They have to deal with the subject. They load him into the car. The ambulance leaves. The police car leaves. “Scoltime mi. Xe meio cussì” The woman repeats it. With that arrogant air. As if she were the square’s overseer. I went home after this spectacle. I wonder… was it really better this way for that boy who was sitting at the foot of a tree in the square? I don’t know. But I didn’t like the lady’s arrogant air. I know nothing about him. Yet I was present. I recorded. Who knows what it will be useful for.