Amaryllis Gacioppo

That’s it. Enough! I will no longer say hello to the man from the piazza. From now on, I will turn my head, or pretend I haven’t heard him greet me, or I may even glance at him with a disgusted expression. That’s what he deserves. He thinks he can make a fool of me. I met him right there, in front of my building on the corner of a small piazza.

There is no dialogue in these scenes. Instead, the narrator probes them like a film camera might, a big roving eye. Each belongs to the same world. Is it our world? I go back and forth on this. It seems like ours to begin with. It has a harbour and ships and rivers and rain. But then the details take on a dreamlike, off-kilter quality.