Admittedly, Torre Annunziata is a city very noisy, loud, exaggerated and frantic. A city where everything is amplified, it seems to live on the edge of a megaphone. Too often depart from the barracks next door yelling the Panthers of the police, too often, screaming, dirty, angry, mix the sound of the horn. The whirling blades of a helicopter they rattle the windows of the hall ... are looking for someone ... someone is going to be arrested. And there it is, I already see his family in full force, deployed on sidewalk in front of the barracks, ready to burn the words of hatred for the 'injustice' done. Yes, Torre is a noisy city, loud, exaggerated and frantic. Yet at night, when you look out from the balcony for a cigarette fumarti, something special. The silence is palpable, tangible, and it breathes. The only sounds audible are those that you hide the day, then you can feel the burn drummino map of each shot, muffled the flow of smoke, tap your fingers to drop the ashes. Maybe this is also why I prefer the silent darkness lively light. The darkness is not only changing the face of the city, but the silences as well. Black silence comforts you, looks after you, you cradle, spurs the imagination.
What's better than the black ink to create colorful patterns?
Alister
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