Can’t breathe in this heat. Look at me, for that pain in the ass Fusco I’m going to catch the mother of all sunstrokes, damn him, and his mother for good measure. This was all Massimo was able to think as he walked to the station. To keep cool, he took a slightly longer way around, through the pine wood. Mechanically, he took out a cigarette, but then it struck him he wouldn’t enjoy it in this heat, so he put it back in the pack and carried on walking. As he walked, lost in thought, he looked down on the ground and catalogued the refuse strewn through the pine wood. “A coke carton . . . paper from a sandwich . . . one of mine, yes . . . good boys . . . a pen . . . a condom wrapper . . . how do they manage it? . . . I’d be scared . . . plus you get pine needles in your ass, which must hurt . . . leftover rigatoni . . . that’s worse . . . rigatoni in tomato sauce to the sea, my God . . .
