"My father has the strength, I have gone through the hard struggles of the Fifties and Sixties, by law Tambroni a scam, when priests and police decided if you could work or if you had to be an unemployed person. I grew up in the midst of the scandals, the massacres, coup attempts and the sounds of the late 'Sixties. Then I swallowed the terrorism, the real and the secret services. They forced me to have sympathy for Moro, who up to that pallotole did not seem much better than his friends. I passed in front of ministers and bankers handcuffed. I have seen from the third world for the Italian Red Cross truck loads of holes in condoms and sour milk. For quite a while 'time television forced me to have a guest house in the venerable Gelli, Calvi and the late lamented Dr. Dr. Shroud: all robbers. I breathed the polvericci of bankruptcies, and for half a century the smoke machines Agnelli. Today m'affaccio more to the window. And 'the era of drug addicts in this and maybe I'll end my life. [...] Be careful not to shoot crap. Do not forget too quickly that only a few years ago you went to shit in the yard and there lavavate with buckets of cold water. Do not forget that an abscess was enough to go to another world. Do not forget to eat bread and onions and you were doing the coffee with chicory. [...] But what Paradise! Try instead to think what this could be Italy without drugs, without the mafia, no corruption, that work with hospitals, schools that work, the railways running. Think of an Italy with Tiber clean, with clear sea, with all the green spaces that the speculation deleted wild and disfigured. Try to think what could be nice to Sicily without the horrors that have been built along the coast. And Rome, look, go here, just outside the walls: there is a siege tower blocks of foul that never ends, amid the dirt and under the specter of the deadly drug. "
Who could give wrong Osvaldo . Those were gospel truth, tangible, living under their eyes. The only thing left to do was to finish his drink and go to bed like every night.
The short story in the collection of socialist The hypocritical stories , Vincenzo Cerami, Oscar Mondadori, 1991
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