me into the bathroom. Then she locked the door and...my God, I still can't believe it!"
Neither can I and I am a man provided with a lot of imagination....
For the first time since middle school he woke me up for a serious reason.
"But now you have to tell me everything in detail!"
You really managed to pique my curiosity.
"Actually, I'm a little bit confused, it's like I have a hole..." You've had that since birth.
"What the hell are you talking about? It's not like I asked you what cocktail you had, you can't not remember the most mind-boggling thing that's happened to you in the last ten years!" Maybe even twenty.
"It's weird, isn't it? And yes I was a little tipsy, but not totally drunk! I know something happened, but don't ask me what. I only remember that when I came out of the bathroom I was like in a trance and I staggered back to the table with the others, who in the meantime had given me up for lost." He raved.
"What happened to that woman? Did you ever see her again after that?"
"Yes, when we left, before leaving the club, she was standing by the door and smiling she came towards me. I was the last in line and kept contemplating her. She mischievously put her mouth to my ear and whispered: see you soon! Then she disappeared into the crowd."
"And when do you plan to go looking for her?" Assuming, in the best case scenario, you don't see her coming out of the bathroom with someone else.
"Tonight itself! I want to take her to my apartment this time though, the bed is certainly more comfortable!" He tries to sketch a half laugh of understanding. He fails badly.
"Roberto... I know you have already thought about it, but I recommend you: you don't know her well, try to be careful. Remember to take the right precautions..."
After all, he's a nice guy, a bit of a pain in the ass and quite petulant, but still a nice guy.
"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing and I've got a new twenty-four box. I have to say goodbye now, I have to get ready, I'll tell you all about it tomorrow at the office. Bye, Davide."
Twenty-four: call it just recovery.
"Sure! Bye and good luck."
With the hope that he would remember something later.
In bed
Now the sunlight is starting to fade. It's clouding over, a relief for my eyes. I loosen the grip with which I held them firmly closed. I feel a slight ache in my temples from exerting myself too long.
I stop struggling against the bed that keeps me encased, because I'm part of it now.
I try to open my eyes. Nothing doing, the eyelids are glued.
It's not possible! I can't stay here motionless waiting for someone to find me!
More minutes pass. Now the annoyance becomes anger.
I rebel, concentrating all myself on that simple movement that I will have done a million times. Easy, isn't it?
One, two and... three! Nothing.
Easy my ass!
But what's happening to me? What's happened to me? Is it possible that I don't remember anything from last night?
I smell something...where is this scent coming from?
Office
"Do you like it? My sister gave it to me for my birthday. Good, right?" Yes, I would recommend it to any prostitute.
"Do you decided to intoxicate the whole office? You're already wearing those armpit miniskirts, then you're also bathing in perfume, don't complain if someone gives you a good pat on the butt!"
Direct approach. Could this be the time she smiles and lets me know she wouldn't mind?
"Except for the fact that I put in very little...and besides, it's not like they're all maniacs like you, dear!"
Sour and moody like most secretaries. But do they take any special courses?
Attempting a smile, I flip through the mail she gently tossed to me on the counter.
"By the way, Francesca, has Roberto arrived yet?"
"Who, the klutz? No, he still hasn't shown up this morning. At the very least he's still trying to get his brain in gear, assuming he can find it."
It's more likely that he's walked by without her noticing him, since her attention is entirely focused on the nail art she carefully applies to her nails.
"Alright, thanks, I'm off to the office, but...don't tell me you have a white hair?"
I hold back my laughter and point to an unspecified spot in her thick hair.
"Where? No way!" Hit and miss.
Vanity: the woman's weak spot.
"And yes... I'm sorry, but it's right there. Must be the stress of overwork?"
I leave her to her hysterical search for the non-existent evil one, while she torches her hair, plucking at it like a monkey.
It's ten thirty, I huff and puff and throw my pen on the coffee table. Coffee break. But what happened to Roberto? Do you want to see that last night he came back from the nymphomaniac and she exhausted him so much that he hasn't recovered yet? I kick the vending machine that has swiped my coin twice. It works, the coffee comes out and meanwhile I try to call Roberto.
First ring: free.
Third ring: sooner or later he will answer.
On the fifth ring, the answering machine comes on. Where have you been?
"Beep!”
"Hi Roberto, it's Davide. Where have you been? If you can connect your brain, call me back. I'm at the office working and, many times you don't remember, that's the place you're supposed to be. Bye and call me!"
He has been sick twice already this month. If he has flu or related again and disappears another week leaving me with his paperwork, I swear I'll bring it straight to his door this time.
Seventeen forty, the end of the working day and Roberto still hasn't shown up. Maybe it would be better if I stopped by his place before going home, maybe he needs something.
Oh no, here we go again! Stuck in traffic. Freaking junction! It would take two of them, one on top of the other, not to widen it.
An hour and a half! It took me a damned hour and a half to get to his front door. On the intercom there is a sign: out of order. Luckily the front door is open. I go to the elevator. Another sign: out of order. What is this, a conspiracy? Doesn't anything work in this ruin of a building?
Sixth floor: hurriedly I arrive in front of the door and without any formalities I attach my finger to the bell.
Come on, answer! Don't tell me you made me come all the way here for nothing, or I'll kill you!
I hear some noises, I stop ringing.
I look at the door: still noises in the background.
"Roberto! It's me: Davide. Come on, open up!"
I knock so hard that even a deaf ninety year old could hear me.
Latch sounds. Hallelujah!
When he finally decides to open, I destroy the smile I'd been wearing and replace it with a chilled expression. "What the hell happened to you?"
He looks like he's aged thirty years. His face is gaunt and waxy.
"Ah, it's you. Come...come in."
Even his voice is altered: hoarse and phlegmy. I follow his footsteps, traipsing down the hall.
"My God, how badly you're hurt!"
He doesn't answer, coughs, and lets his weight drop onto