I went back to sea on a Sunday in September. It was early morning and along the surf there was some old man who was walking dress, barefoot. I looked at the hotel where I had been in July. Already closed, with wooden boards against the windows to protect them from aluminum salt. Then I saw two nuns sitting on a fly colonies Rescue, the raised calf skirts, big hats Gullwing that trembled in the breeze. Then I wondered why the sensation of a year that passes the test, not New Year's Eve, and even on my birthday, but when the summer ends.from "words" of Luca Goldoni
