Genova, Rain

Saturday. Genova this weekend. Rain against Dad’s windows this morning and the sea the colour of metal. We went out anyway because Dad considers weather a suggestion. Focaccia eaten while walking, which should probably be protected as a human right. He asked whether I come down so often because I miss him or because I like escaping Milano. I said both. That’s actually true. Milano contains my whole ordinary life, which is why sometimes I need to leave it. In Genova I am still me, but nobody is waiting for Monday’s version of me. Dad doesn’t care about the test next week or what somebody said at school. We talk about those things, obviously, but the city itself doesn’t know them. There is relief in being somewhere your problems have no local address.

Remember me, Eclipse.