It has been almost forty years since the accident. Forty years that I have been idle in a dusty garage just outside of Rome. It was Bruno who retrieved me from the escarpment, but he did not want to touch me for the longest time. However this morning he decided that the time has come to start me up. Soon we were on our way: me, him and young Roberto. We were all together to pay homage to the other Roberto, the one who died for the delirium of the sixties. Finally, I felt the crunching of the pine-needles of the maritime pines under my wheels. Though there was something diverse about the sound; it seemed almost metallic. Something like crushing a beer can. Even the landscape had changed. I had the memory of it being different in someway. The people that went towards the sea would have found cafes, restaurants and sandwich joints. Now they encounter only shopping malls. The only thing that seems to have remained the same is that desire to race. Cars whizzing past never stopping. I know that around the curve there might be a truck that cannot be avoided. You might hurt yourself.
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