Friday, August 8


Yesterday I went to visit Oreste, just to check if he was still alive, and if they still had those lemon biscuits which I like so much. I needed my daily dose of coffee, but also my daily dose of admiration, the confirmation that in someone’s eyes I was still desirable, perhaps even part of some violent and unspeakable fantasy. Oreste looked tanned and tired, he had just spent a few weeks in Turkey, but told me he would go back to Italy next year. Relaxing next to the pool had been nice, but there was no nightlife, and he had missed something he could only find back home. I imagined him next to his wife and children, which gave me mixed feelings, and had to remind myself why I was there. Oreste smiled and said: “You look tanned,” a statement which almost sounded like “You look good” and perhaps meant the same thing. I ordered my coffee and reminded myself I had to be more independent, not attach so much value to the opinions of others, especially those of men. “Here’s your coffee,” said Oreste. “Those lemon biscuits are a gift from me.”