While working in Trieste as a dog walker, and trying to become a writer, he imagines James Joyce, middle class or higher, like almost all artists and writers. He does not have the advantages but also the advantages, coming from somewhere else. You can only do so much, but how much.
The bora howls and howls. His relationship is failing. She wants the product and he wants the process. His wild horses are running away from him. Looking out to sea at Piazza Unita. A nomadic existence, but also stability. Trying to juggle them, like everyone.
Here is a reading from the Italian section of my debut novel Never Mind the Beasts, available now from Dostoyevsky Wannabe.