He closes his eyes halfway: the smell of the leather upholstery, the hot motor oil, the gasoline. The roar of the speeding car, the light breeze from the window. Ciao, amore mio, says his angel. He smiles at her, head over heels in love. He adores every instant that he spends with her, wherever they are, wherever they go. He feels a pang of regret for having left the dog behind, but he knows he understands because he explained it to him: it’s just a matter of minutes, he whispered into the dog’s ear as he petted him, an hour or two at most. She strokes his hair, he holds the cap in his hand. Where do you want to go? she asks him. Would you like a yummy pastry? Yes, he replies. Yes, of course. He thinks to himself that the other boys never have moments like this one. They dream of moments like this one. One of the first times he went out, they asked him to tell them about it: come on, you fool of a cacaglio, tell us where you went with Signora Carmen.
