[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"catalog-living-divani-frog30th":3,"$f54gFciXR1FznWJVNft3TqcXl0B8GYbPbga8lnvghe78":188},{"id":4,"title":5,"slug":6,"image":7,"source":8,"brand_name":9,"brand":10,"brand_slug":11,"file_size":12,"pages":13,"pages_count":183,"matched_pages":184,"match_count":185,"two_pages":186,"show_text":187},22207,"Frog30th","living-divani-frog30th","\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.1.png","http:\u002F\u002F127.0.0.1:8000\u002Fprivate\u002Ffiles\u002F59\u002Fa2e71becabfc245367dc93fe021f40-28e27bdd62.pdf","Living Divani",1291,"living-divani","8.6 MB",[14,17,21,25,29,33,37,41,45,49,53,57,60,64,68,71,75,79,82,86,90,94,98,102,106,109,113,117,121,124,128,132,135,139,143,146,150,154,157,161,165,168,172,176,180],{"image":7,"text":15,"number":16},"FROG30TH\nFROG30TH\n",1,{"image":18,"text":19,"number":20},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.2.png","A LEAP ACROSS \n30 YEARS OF DESIGN\nTrenta storie per \nuna poltrona avventurosa\nThirty stories for \nan adventurous armchair\n",2,{"image":22,"text":23,"number":24},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.3.png","02\n03\n     «Quando l’abbiamo vista, trent’anni fa, abbiamo \ndetto a Piero che non ne avremmo venduta una», \nhanno ricordato in Living Divani, a proposito del primo \nincontro con Frog. \n«Vendere?» dev’essersi detta lei: «Ma farò di meglio! \nSarò longeva, girerò tutto il mondo e, siccome porto \nil nome di un animale che ha fatto della trasformazione \nun’arte, cambierò d’abito, sperimenterò materiali, \nazzarderò colori e diventerò l’icona stessa di quelle \nproporzioni un po’ sbagliate di cui parla Piero Lissoni \nquando gli chiedono di me». \n     Ed eccoci qui, con Frog che festeggia il suo \ntrentesimo compleanno. \nApparsa sulle scene nel 1995 in versione intrecciata \nCandore Assoluto, triplicatasi poco dopo in un eccentrico \nprototipo, a sorpresa si ripresenta in versione rivestita \nin pelle o feltro. Gli intrecci sono nel suo DNA, \nrigorosamente artigianali, e allora li prova anche con \nprofili in cuoio, pvc, corda in canapa e corda in cellulosa, \nnelle versioni a due o a quattro fili. \nSi fa super morbida con una imbottitura trapuntata in pelle \no tessuto. Festeggia i vent’anni in versione ultraleggera \ncon struttura in carbonio e intreccio in poliestere.  \nScopre le gioie del relax e genera Frog Lounge, in versione \nindoor e outdoor.  \nE per il suo anniversario, aumentati gli spessori, \ndichiara di essere forte, sottolineando la sua ossatura \nin alluminio. In tutto questo frequenta musei, teatri, \nispira artisti esordienti e affermati, mentre il suo \nautore vince premi a man bassa. \nMa quel che è più importante, va ad abitare in moltissime \ncase, alberghi, aziende, ville, negozi, uffici, \nappartamenti, gallerie, show room, in compagnia di donne, \nuomini, ragazzi, ragazze, bambine, bambini, animali, \npiante, come raccontano le trenta storie qui raccolte.\nPer il futuro ha detto che ci penserà, non ha fretta.\n     «When we first saw her thirty years ago, we told Piero \nwe wouldn’t sell a single one,» the people at Living Divani \nrecalled about their first encounter with Frog.\n«Sell?» she must have thought. «Oh, I’ll do better than \njust sell! I’ll have a long life, travel the world, \nand since I bear the name of an animal that has made an art \nof transformation, I’ll change outfits, experiment with \nmaterials, be adventurous with colors, and become the very \nicon of those slightly off-kilter proportions that Piero \nLissoni mentions whenever people ask him about me».\n     So here we are now, celebrating Frog’s thirtieth \nbirthday with her. \nShe made her debut in 1995 in her Absolute Candour woven \nversion, and soon thereafter split into three in an eccentric \nprototype, only to reappear unexpectedly clad, variously, \nin leather or felt. Weaving is in her DNA – strictly \nartisanal – so she has tried it with profiles in leather, \nPVC, hemp rope, and cellulose cord, in two-or four-strand \nversions. \nShe has embraced supreme softness with quilted padding \nin leather or fabric. For her twentieth anniversary, \nshe went ultralight with a carbon fiber frame and polyester \nweave. She discovered the joys of relaxation and gave birth \nto Frog Lounge, for both indoor and outdoor living. \nAnd for her anniversary, with thicker profiles, she declares \nher womanly strength, highlighting her aluminum frame. \nAll the while, she has graced museums and theaters, inspired \nboth emerging and renowned artists, while her creator \nhas amassed awards left and right. \nBut most importantly, she has found her way into countless \nhomes, hotels, offices, villas, boutiques, apartments, \ngalleries, and showrooms, in the company of women, \nmen, teenagers, children, animals, and plants, as told \nin the thirty stories gathered here.\nAs for the future? She says she’ll think about it – she’s \nin no hurry.\n",3,{"image":26,"text":27,"number":28},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.4.png","05\n04\nSi chiama Frog\nShe's called Frog\n     Una sera una famiglia di mobilieri era a cena con un \ndesigner. Era una famiglia molto vivace e creativa che amava \nfare grandi progetti. \nIn particolare, quella volta, avevano in mente una poltrona. \nDoveva essere diversa da tutte, dicevano. \nC’era chi la immaginava elegantissima. Chi originalissima. \nChi classicissima. Uno diceva che avrebbe dovuto essere \nl’idea platonica di poltrona. L’altra che l’idea platonica \nera sorpassatissima. Erano così accalorati nel descrivere \nquesto fenomeno che persino al maître era venuta voglia \ndi dire la sua, che poi la sua era che su questa poltrona \nci si doveva star bene. Intanto si era giunti al dessert e, \ndopo il dessert, al caffè. \nAllora il designer, che fino a quel momento se ne era stato \nzitto e aveva fatto dei gran ghirigori su un tovagliolo, \nalzò lo sguardo e fece vedere la poltrona che aveva disegnato. \nE questa era esattamente tutto quello che era stato detto \nfin lì, ma in modo così inaspettato da essere tutta diversa. \n«Si chiama Frog,» aggiunse nel silenzio generale.\n     One evening, a family of furniture makers was enjoying \ndinner with an industrial designer. \nThey were a fun-loving, creative family and they really \nenjoyed getting involved in big projects. What they \nhad in mind that night, in particular, was an armchair. \nAn armchair completely different from any other armchair \never, they rhapsodized. This family member envisioned \nit as supremely elegant; that one yearned for outstanding \noriginality. Another said it would be utterly classic. \nThere was one who declared that this armchair would embody \nthe Platonic ideal of Armchair. Across the table came the \nretort: \"Platonic ideals are so last year\". The debate over \nthis phenomenal armchair grew so heated that the maître \nd’ felt obliged to have his say – the armchair, he declared, \nshould be comfortable. \nBy now, dessert was being served, and after dessert came \na round of espresso. Just then the designer, who had \nsat silent the whole time, drawing great swooping doodles \non a napkin, looked around and held up the armchair he had \nsketched. The armchair, it turned out, corresponded with \nevery opinion expressed that evening – and yet it had been \nrendered in such a surprising fashion that it constituted \nsomething startlingly different. \n«I’m calling this armchair Frog,» the designer added, amidst \nthe stunned silence.\nI.\n05\n",4,{"image":30,"text":31,"number":32},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.5.png","07\n06\n2.\nTutta rossa\nCompletely red\n     Un giorno Frog andò \na Parigi. Aveva sentito dire che \ni parigini sono persone molto \nchic, per niente convenzionali, \nun po’ trasgressive, anche. \nCosì per l’occasione scelse \nuna mise a cui era da un po’ \nche pensava, tutta rossa. \nFaceva venire un po’ in mente \nil rosso del Campari che, \ngià solo per associazione, \ndà alla testa. E infatti ebbe \nun gran successo. Vecchie \nglorie dell’aristocrazia \ncome le Tuileries la contesero \nai festaioli Champs-Élysées. \nA Place de Vosges \nfilosofeggiarono sulle sue \nlinee. Ma quella che proprio \nse ne innamorò fu la Tour Eiffel. \nTrovava irresistibile quella \nbase quadrata, bassa, larga, \nagile. Così affine.\n     One day Frog went to Paris. \nShe’d been told that Parisians \nwere impossibly chic, unbound by \nconvention, and even rebellious, \nto a certain extent. So that \nevening, she decided to wear a \ncolor she’d been longing to try \non – red, from dazzling backrest \nto slender aluminium leg. \nThe red she sported was \nreminiscent of Campari red, \nand just by association alone, \nthat hue turned heads till they \nwere spinning. She was indeed \nthe belle of the ball. Great and \nglorious names of the venerable \naristocracy such as the \nTuileries courted her eagerly, \nvying against the giddily \nrevelrous Champs-Élysées. \nThe Place des Vosges philosophized \nabout her contours. But no one \nfell for her so truly, badly, \nand madly as the Eiffel Tower. \nHow could he not? That broad,\nlow, squared-off foundation, \nso spirited.\n",5,{"image":34,"text":35,"number":36},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.6.png","09\n08\n     Forse perché uscita essa stessa dalla mente di Eiffel, \nanche la Statua della Libertà ne fece una malattia. \nLa vide, una notte, brillare lontanissima dietro le vetrate \ndi una finestra di Manhattan. Si chiese chi fosse, da dove \nvenisse. Così, una notte, posati la torcia e la Dichiarazione \ndi Indipendenza, scese dal piedistallo. \nE, con quella proprietà unica che hanno le statue di farsi \numane, arrotolati i drappeggi sopra le ginocchia, raggiunse \nla riva. La somiglianza con Iside non fu notata da nessuno. \nTutti videro solo una ragazza dal fisico monumentale \ne l’espressione assorta, seduta su una poltrona bellissima, \nin un hotel dall’atmosfera deliziosa, in Madison Avenue.\n     Perhaps because the Statue of Liberty was likewise \nthe brainchild of Gustave Eiffel, she too became obsessed \nwith Frog. One night, she spotted Frog gleaming through \nthe panes of a Manhattan window, impossibly distant. \nLady Liberty wondered who that lady in red could be, where \ncould she have come from. \nAnd so the great statue laid down her torch and Tablet \nof Independence and stepped down from her pedestal. \nExercising that unique gift that statues seem to have \nof becoming human, she gathered her robes above her knees \nand waded to shore. Her distinctive resemblance to the \ngoddess Isis went unnoticed. New Yorkers saw nothing other \nthan a young woman with a monumental physique, lost in \nthought, sitting in a magnificent armchair, in a hotel \nwith the most delightful ambiance on Madison Avenue.\n3.\n... da una finestra di Manhattan\n... from a Manhattan window\n",6,{"image":38,"text":39,"number":40},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.7.png","11\n4.\nSettimo senso\nSeventh sense\n     Dato che non amava i vernissage, ma era costretto \na frequentarli per ragioni professionali, aveva deciso \ndi adottare questa strategia che gli era possibile grazie \nal fatto di avere sviluppato, fin da piccolo, quello \nche gli scienziati hanno definito \"settimo senso\". Questo \nsettimo senso, a detta dei cognitivisti, consentirebbe \ndi individuare quegli esseri viventi e oggetti capaci \ndi aprire una luminosa breccia spazio temporale in contesti \nparticolarmente gravosi, come call di lavoro, cene di Natale, \nconvention internazionali, pizzate con ex compagni di liceo, \nvisite a parenti lontani, ritardi ferroviari, ricevimenti, \nscioperi del personale di volo... \nNel caso in oggetto, adocchiò immediatamente il chiarore \nazzurrino che alonava quella meravigliosa poltrona posizionata \nnell’angolo più appartato della galleria.\n     He loathed gallery openings, but professional duties \nrequired his attendance. And so he had devised a strategy \nmade possible by the fact, from earliest childhood, \nhe’d developed what cognitive scientists describe as \na \"seventh sense\". Theorists in the field posit that this \nseventh sense enables a certain few to identify animate \nbeings and objects capable of opening luminous space-time \nportals in otherwise agonizing situations – such as Zoom \ncalls for work, family Christmas dinners, international \nconventions, class reunions, visits with distant relatives, \ndelayed trains, cocktail parties, airline strikes... \nIn this particular case, he immediately made a beeline \nfor the faint blue glow emanating from that magnificent \narmchair, tucked away in the coziest, most secluded corner \nof the art gallery.\n",7,{"image":42,"text":43,"number":44},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.8.png","",8,{"image":46,"text":47,"number":48},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.9.png","15\n14\n5.\nEntropia\nEntropy\n     Quando mai gli avevo concesso, dopo infinite preghiere, \ndi portare la poltrona in camera sua: «È l’unico posto dove \nriesco a leggere». Mentiva! Semplicemente aveva bisogno \ndi un'altra superficie di appoggio per il suo caos \nadolescenziale. Innumerevoli strati di magliette, calzini, \nfelpe, pantaloni, un giorno dopo l’altro, andarono a coprirla, \ninesorabilmente. Fra uno strato e l’altro si insinuarono \nlibri, fumetti, auricolari, confezioni di barrette \nal cioccolato, guanti e cappelli da sci... Lo minacciai. \nRiprovai per l’ennesima volta con lo spiegone educativo \nsull’autosufficienza. Ma era chiaro che il suo concetto di \nautonomia era dominato dall’entropia. Finché un giorno tornò \na casa da scuola, raggiante: nello stesso momento aveva \nscoperto l’amore e il design. «Sai, mamma, quella tua \npoltrona? Beh, è un grande classico di un designer milanese». \nIl giorno dopo, scomparso come per magia l’ammasso di detriti \nautobiografici, invitò Clarissa a sedercisi.     \n     What on earth persuaded me to give in, after all \nhis pestering, and let him take my armchair into his room? \n«It’s the only place I can concentrate on my books». \nAnother barefaced lie! He just wanted one more repository \nfor his tsunami of teenage clutter. Day after day, layer \nafter layer of crumpled T-shirts and socks and sweatshirts \nand trousers piled up on it, eventually submerging it \nentirely. And between those layers other things managed \nto wedge themselves in – books, comic books, earbuds, candy \nbar wrappers, ski gloves, winter hats... I threatened him. \nFor what seemed like the hundredth time, I trotted out my \nparental sermon about responsibility. It was clear to me, \nthough – any notions he might have of independence were \nsteeped in a bouillabaisse of entropy. But then, one day, \nhe came home just radiant: at a single turn, he’d fallen \nin love and discovered the magic of design. «Mama, you know \nthat armchair of yours? Well, it’s actually a great classic, \nthe work of a major Milanese designer». And the next day, \nas if by enchantment, the heap of personal detritus \nwas gone. Clarissa was coming over, and he wanted a nice \narmchair for her to sit in.\n",9,{"image":50,"text":51,"number":52},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.10.png","17\n16\n6.\nMalwida von Strucker\nMalwida von Strucker\n     La baronessa Malwida von \nStrucker aveva una collezione \ndi biplani che pilotava \nnel tempo libero. La mattina \npresto, a ottantatré anni suonati, \nprendeva l’autobus 97 barrato \nper recarsi fuori città, da \ncui scendeva al capolinea, dove \ncominciavano i prati. \nDa lì, che ci fosse il sole \no piovesse, procedeva a piedi, \nper alcuni chilometri, lungo \nun viottolo fra i campi \ne i boschi. Infine, arrivava \nall’hangar dove teneva quelli \nche definiva \"i miei ragazzi\".\nPrima di salire a bordo \ne accendere i motori, stappava \nuna Perrier, sedeva sulla \nsua Frog, l’unica seduta adatta \nalla conformazione del suo \nischio, e leggeva qualche \naforisma del suo trisnonno, \nvon Clausewitz.\n     Baroness Malwida von \nStrucker owned an assortment \nof biplanes which she enjoyed \nflying in her free time. \nEven at her venerable age of \neighty-three, she liked to rise \nat the crack of dawn, catch \nthe 97 bus out of town, and ride \ntill the very end of the line. \nThere, where the city turned \nto countryside, she disembarked, \nrain or shine, and walked for \na few miles down a path that \nwended its way through fields \nand forests. At last, she came \nto the hangar where she stored \nwhat she fondly called \"her boys\". \nBefore cranking the propeller \nand clambering into the cockpit, \nshe would pop open a bottle of \nPerrier, settle comfortably into \nher Frog – the only armchair \nthat conformed to the structure \nof her tailbone – and peruse \nan aphorism or two from \nthe anthology written by her \ngreat-great-great-grandfather, \nthe Baron Carl von Clausewitz.\n",10,{"image":54,"text":55,"number":56},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.11.png","19\n     Arrivò una mattina di fine estate, inseguendo \nuna lucertola. Si guardò intorno, incuriosita. \nSaltò giù dal muretto, attraversò il roseto addormentato \ndalle recenti settimane di gran caldo, si fece distrarre \nda una cetonia, ignorò il giardiniere che trafficava \nnella serra e puntò dritta verso la piscina. \nNoi, da dietro i vetri della cucina, la guardavamo ammirati. \nEra uno di quei gatti di gran razza che vanno di moda adesso, \nscappata chissà da dove. Una pelliccia maculata, perfetta, \ndorata. Da jet set anni Cinquanta. Sicuramente aveva ben \nchiaro quale fosse il suo posto. Si acciambellò sulla chaise \nlongue, e dopo una accurata pulizia, socchiuse i grandi \nocchi color topazio. \nE non ci fu più verso di spostarla di lì.\n     One morning in late summer she arrived, in pursuit \nof a lizard. Looking around curiously, she then leapt down \noff the low wall and padded through the rose garden that \nseemed to slumber in a daze after the weeks of relentless \nsummer heat. Momentarily distracted by an iridescent flower \nbeetle, she ignored the gardener working away in the \ngreenhouse and headed straight for the swimming pool. \nIn awe, we followed her progress through the kitchen window. \nShe was one of those magnificent purebred cats that are all \nthe rage these days, and she must have run away from some \nvery posh home. Her fur was dappled, flawless, golden: \na vision straight out of a Fifties jet set dream. \nShe clearly knew just where she belonged and curled up on \nthe chaise longue, groomed herself thoroughly, and half-shut \nher big eyes, the color of topaz. \nAfter that, there was no moving her from that spot. \n7.\nSulla chaise longue\nOn the chaise longue\n",11,{"image":58,"text":43,"number":59},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.12.png",12,{"image":61,"text":62,"number":63},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.13.png","23\n22\n8.\nSoggiorno milanese\nThe Milan trip\n     Il soggiorno milanese \nera stato scrupolosamente \nprogrammato. Arrivo in aeroporto. \nColazione in albergo. \nAppuntamento con il presidente \ndella casa discografica. \nShopping nel quadrilatero della \nmoda. Incontro con il Sindaco. \nSauna, massaggi, spuntino. \nGiro turistico ai principali \nmonumenti della città. \nRicevimento al consolato \ncinese. Prima alla Scala. Cena.     \nInvece, appena dopo la colazione, \nsi dileguò. Qualche giorno \nprima aveva visto Vacanze romane. \nUn’occasione d’oro per riallac-\nciare i contatti con quel suo \nfidanzato dei tempi dell’Erasmus. \nScorrazzarono in scooter per \nquelle strade dove nessuno pensa \ndi portare i turisti. \nSi divisero una pizza seduti \nsulla panchina di un parco. \nIn un mercato comprò un paio di \nsandaletti. In un chiosco prese \nun gelato pistacchio e amarena, \ni suoi gusti preferiti. \nEntrò da un parrucchiere del \nquartiere cinese che le tagliò \ni capelli cortissimi. \nInfine, a notte, con la luna \nche si specchiava nel Naviglio \nGrande, si baciarono. \nLa mattina, placata la sua \nagente furibonda, la obbligò \nad acquistare la poltrona \nche aveva adocchiato nella hall \ndell’albergo. \n«È così bella che, guardandola, \nogni volta penserai a me,» \nscrisse sul biglietto. \n     The Milan trip had been \nplanned down to the last detail. \nETA at Linate airport. Breakfast \nat the hotel. Meeting with the \npresident of the record label. \nA shopping excursion in Milan’s \nfashion district. Meeting with \nthe mayor. Sauna, massages, \nlight refreshments. Sightseeing \ntour of the city's most \nimportant monuments. Cocktail \nparty at the Chinese consulate. \nGrand premiere at La Scala. \nCandlelight dinner. \nInstead, right after breakfast, \nshe disappeared. Just the other \nday, she’d watched Roman Holiday. \nThis was a tempting opportunity \nto see her old boyfriend from \nthe Erasmus student exchange \nprogram. The two of them zipped \naround town on a scooter, \nzooming down streets where \nno one would dream of taking \na visiting tourist. Sharing a \npizza on a park bench. Buying a \ncute pair of sandals at a street \nmarket. At an ice cream stand, \na delicious pistachio-and-black-\ncherry gelato – her favori-\nte flavors. Ducking into a tiny \nChinese hair salon, where she \nhad her hair cropped short. \nThat night, they kissed while \na full moon was reflected in the \nwaters of the Naviglio Grande. \nThen, the next morning, after \nfinally talking her agent down \nfrom her towering rage, she \ninsisted on buying her the \narmchair she’d noticed in the \nhotel lobby. «It’s such a \nbeautiful piece of furniture \nthat, every time you look at it \nor sit in it, you’ll think of \nme» she wrote on the gift card. \n",13,{"image":65,"text":66,"number":67},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.14.png","24\n9.\nLa disposizione dei posti\nThe seating arrangement\n     «Allora rimane da decidere \nla disposizione dei posti».\n  «Per fare il punto: \n- Miranda è vegana.\n- La figlia di Jackie \n  è intollerante al glutine.\n- Fjodor, al lattosio.\n- Mamma deve stare vicina \n  a una via d’uscita.\n- Carlos è allergico alla \n  frutta secca.\n- Bianca, ai crostacei.\n- Zia Ernesta non sopporta \n  la cacciagione.\n- I gemelli mangiano solo patate   \n  fritte e orsetti gommosi.\n- Demetrio non parla più \n  ai cugini americani.\n- Il fidanzato di Marina \n  è fruttariano.\n- La compagna di Athina \n  è astemia.\n- Athina ha una fobia \n  per le verdure in foglia.\n- Per fortuna zio Goffredo \nè un’ottima forchetta, \ne mangia tutto». \n- «Perfetto, allora lo faremo \nsedere qui». \n     «All right, the only thing    \n  left is to finetune the \n  seating chart». \n  «Here are the bullet points:\n- Miranda’s a vegan.\n- Jackie’s daughter is gluten\n  intolerant.\n- Fjodor is lactose-intolerant.\n- Mother needs to sit with \n  access to an exit.\n- Carlos is allergic \n  to dried fruit.\n- Bianca is allergic to shellfish.\n- Aunt Ernesta refuses \n  to eat wild game.\n- The twins refuse to eat   \n  anything but French fries \n  and gummy bears.\n- Demetrios is no longer \n  on speaking terms with his \n  American cousins.\n- Marina’s boyfriend \n  is a fruitarian.\n- Athina’s girlfriend \ndoesn’t drink.\n- Athina herself has a pathological \n  fear of leafy greens.\n- The good news is that Uncle   \nGoffredo is an ideal guest \nhe’ll eat anything, and \nin volume».\n- «Perfect, then he’ll seat him   \nright here».\n",14,{"image":69,"text":43,"number":70},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.15.png",15,{"image":72,"text":73,"number":74},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.16.png","29\n10.\n     «Il buffet degli aperitivi \nlo allestiamo sulla terrazza \nche dà sul lago. Per le decora-\nzioni floreali siamo in contatto \ncon un vivaio specializzato in \ntuberose. I danzatori potrebbero \narrivare dall’acqua, su tre \npiroghe, se siete d’accordo. \nFanno sempre una gran figura, \nilluminati dai fuochi d’artificio». \nMentre, arrancando, seguiva \nla wedding planner che a falcate \nmarziali attraversava il piano \nterra della villa elargendo \ninformazioni su quella che si \nprospettava come la giornata \npiù infernale della sua vita, \nadocchiò una piccola porta \nnascosta nel trompe l’oeil che \nrappresentava una scena di caccia. \nAll’inizio non capì dove fosse \nfinito. Percorse un lungo \ncorridoio buio che portava a \nuna grande stanza chiara. Era \nuno studio d’artista, spartano, \nprobabilmente segreto, costellato \ndi strane sculture. Dopo qualche \nistante si accorse di una figura \nin piedi, in controluce. \nUna donna dall’età indefinibile \ne dal viso strano lo fissava \ncon un sorriso complice.   \n«Non si preoccupi, potrà \nnascondersi qui finché vorrà. \nAbbiamo viveri e libri in \nabbondanza. Ma la avverto: \nnon c’è campo. Niente telefoni, \nchat, social. E la poltrona è mia. \nQuanto al resto, mi basta che \nsia educato, non si abbandoni \na paturnie e sappia tenere \npulita la sua stanza» aggiunse, \nindicando una porta. «Sa quanti \nne ho salvati, come lei?».  \nTrompe l’oeil\nTrompe-l’oeil\n     «We’ll set up the aperitif \nbuffet on the terrace overlooking \nthe lake. As for the floral \narrangements, we’re in touch \nwith a nursery that specializes \nin tuberose blooms. We could \nhave the dancers arrive by water, \nin three dugout canoes, if you \napprove. They always make such \na striking entrance, illuminated \nby fireworks». He was struggling \nto keep up with the wedding plan-\nner as she led him on a forced \nmarch through the villa’s ground \nfloor, showering him with infor-\nmation about what was promising \nto stack up as the most hellish \nday of his life. Then he spotted \nit – a small, hidden door set \nin a trompe-l'oeil painting of a \nhunting scene. At first, he had \nno idea where he’d wandered. \nA long, dark hallway took him \nto a large sunlit room. It was \nan artist’s studio, spartan and \nprobably secret, filled with \nan array of very odd sculptures. \nAfter a short while, he noticed \na figure, backlit in the sunlight \n– a woman of indeterminate age, \nwith a peculiar face, watching \nhim with a knowing smile. \n«Don’t worry,» she said. \n«You can hide here as long as \nyou please. We have plenty of \nfood and books to read. But I’ll \nwarn you: there’s no cell signal \nhere. No phones, no messages, \nno social media. And that amchair \nis mine. Aside from that, all I \nask is that you follow the basic \nrules of etiquette, be cheerful, \nand keep your room clean and \ntidy». Then she waved her hand \ntoward a door. «You don’t know how \nmany others like you I’ve saved».\n",16,{"image":76,"text":77,"number":78},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.17.png","30\n11.\nLibri, caffè, camino acceso\nBooks, coffee, fire lit\n     Aveva nevicato tutta la notte. Le strade, vidi sul \nbollettino meteo, non sarebbero state praticabili prima \ndel passaggio degli spazzaneve, impegnati altrove. \nSi avverava quella condizione che avevo sempre sognato, \nfin da studente: restare bloccati in montagna. Libri, \ncaffè, camino acceso, giochi di società, diversi spuntini \nad allietare la giornata. Se non che, quando scesi al piano \ndi sotto, trovai la mia poltrona già occupata. \n«Papà, non puoi entrare nel nostro tepee,» mi fece presente \nCaterina, spuntando da sotto al copriletto che faceva \nle veci della pelle di bisonte.\n«Lupo grigio non sarebbe contento di questa intrusione \ndi uomo bianco,» puntualizzò Marianna.\nLupo grigio sonnecchiava beato fra le due pesti.\nFu così che mi spedirono in cucina a preparare la colazione.\n     The snow fell all night long. The weatherman said that \nthe roads would be impassable until the snowplows came \nthrough, and they were needed elsewhere for the near future. \nWe were looking at a situation I’d dreamed of since \nI was a kid: snowed in at our mountain house. We had plenty \nof books and coffee, a crackling fire, board games, and plenty \nof snacks and treats to pass the time. Only, when I went \ndownstairs, I found my armchair already taken.\n«Papa, you’re not allowed in our teepee,» Caterina warned me, \npeeking out from under the blanket that in her imagination \nwas a furry buffalo pelt. \n«Gray Wolf would frown at the thought of a paleface setting \nfoot in here,» Marianna added, sternly. \nGray Wolf lay dozing contentedly, snuggled between my two \nlittle troublemakers. And so I was sent off to the kitchen \nto whip up breakfast.\n \n",17,{"image":80,"text":43,"number":81},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.18.png",18,{"image":83,"text":84,"number":85},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.19.png","35\n     «Shall we begin, people?» \nThe woman tried to call the \nboard of directors to order, \nbut today they had all fallen \nvictim to the sirens of \ndistraction. Even the tray \nholding the drinking glasses \nand mineral water – the unequaled \ncreation of a Japanese designer \n– wasn’t where it was supposed \nto be, enjoying price of place \nat the center of the table and \nemanating an aura of impeccable \ntaste, luxury, and supreme \nsimplicity. One director was \nstaring absently into the \ndistance, oblivious to the city \nteeming with life fifty floors \nbelow; another was smiling \nin amusement at their phone; \nsomeone else listlessly leafed \nthrough a newspaper; and a fourth \ndirector sat impatiently, \nwaiting for the arrival of the \ncoffee. A seagull, gazing into \nthe conference room as it lofted \noutside the vast picture window, \nnoticed in particular the man \nin a dark suit gazing back \nout at him. The man was alert, \nwatching from his seat slightly \napart from the others. The man \nperched as if on a magnificent \nrock, rather than an armchair  \nthat was the one piece of \nfurniture in the room that \nthe seagull yearned to land \nupon. The man seemed interested \nin the gull’s wings. He was \njotting down a sketch of them \non a metro ticket.\n     «Vogliamo cominciare?» \nLa donna cercò di richiamarli \nall’ordine. Ma quel giorno \nil consiglio di amministrazione \npareva in preda al demone della \ndistrazione, se non a quello \ndella disubbidienza. Persino \nil vassoio con i bicchieri e \nle bottiglie di acqua minerale, \nsuprema opera di un designer \ngiapponese, non stava nel posto \ndove di solito troneggiava, \ncol compito di diffondere \nintorno a sé un’atmosfera \nfatta di gusto impeccabile, \nlusso e inarrivabile semplicità. \nC’era chi guardava nel vuoto \nsenza accorgersi della città \nbrulicante di vita, cinquanta \npiani sotto; c’era chi sorrideva \nconcentrato su qualche \nstupidaggine apparsa sullo \nschermo del telefono; chi \nsfogliava senza convinzione \nun quotidiano e chi cercava \nqualcosa nella cartelletta \ndavanti a sé, in attesa \ndell’arrivo dei caffè. \nUn gabbiano, osservando la sala \nattraverso la grande vetrata, \nnotò l’uomo vestito di scuro \nche lo fissava, a sua volta, \nattento, un po’ in disparte. \nPareva seduto su uno scoglio, \nanziché su una poltrona, unico \narredo della sala riunioni \nsu cui al gabbiano sarebbe \npiaciuto posarsi. L’uomo sembrava \ninteressato alle sue ali. \nLe stava disegnando su un \nbiglietto della metropolitana.\n12.\nUn gabbiano\nA seagull\n",19,{"image":87,"text":88,"number":89},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.20.png","37\n     Alla fine, decisero che la poltrona sarebbe stata \nsei mesi a casa di lei e sei a casa di lui. Ma fu una \ntransazione complicatissima. L’avvocata matrimonialista \ntrovava l’aneddoto irresistibile, per le cene fra colleghi. \n«E chi sarà incaricato di portarla da una casa all’altra?» \n- chiedeva sempre qualcuno. «Una ditta specializzata \nin trasporti di valore» rispondeva lei, sorridente.\n«Sapete: oggetti d’arte, capi d’alta moda, incunaboli, \npezzi di design, memorie di cristallo sempre sul punto \ndi andare in frantumi».\n    In the end, they were finally able to agree \nthe armchair would spend six months a year at her house \nand six months at his. Even that, however, was a \nbureaucratic nightmare. The divorce lawyer, in fact, dined \nout on that story, regaling her colleagues with the details.\n«So who did the actual work of ferrying the armchair back \nand forth?» one or another of her colleagues would \nunfailingly ask. «A highly specialized logistics firm, \naccustomed to handling high-value objects,» she would reply \nwith a grin. «You know – priceless artworks, haute couture \napparel, rare books, high-end designer furniture, \nBavarian crystal memories forever at risk of shattering \ninto smithereens».\n13.\nTrasporti di valore\nPrecious cargo\n",20,{"image":91,"text":92,"number":93},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.21.png","39\n14.\nIn ascensore\nIn the elevator\n     Alle due, quando scesi \nal bar per un panino, incappai \nnelle mie cose sul marciapiede, \nin attesa di essere caricate \nsul camion dei traslochi. \nNon che avessi chissà cosa. \nMa mi fece una certa impressione. \nImprovvisamente una parte \nprivatissima di te è lì, sotto \ngli occhi di tutti. Guardi gli \noggetti di sempre e ti sembrano \nstrani. Come se appartenessero \na uno che non sai bene chi sia. \nUn tizio che per motivi \nmisteriosi ha deciso di cambiare \nindirizzo. Il bollitore che usi \ntutte le mattine ti pare sul \npunto di volatilizzarsi, insieme \nal portaombrelli, alla scatola \ndella collezione di sassi randagi, \nal comodino stile impero, \nal tappeto comprato al bazar \ndi Istanbul... Un esodo, una \ndiaspora. Dimenticai il panino \ne, due gradini alla volta, \nraggiunsi l’appartamento. \n«Questa la porto giù io» \ndissi agli addetti al trasloco.\nScendemmo io e lei, soli, \nin ascensore. \nPer tranquillizzarla, \nmi ci sedetti. \nMi parve riconoscente. \n«Sarai la prima a entrare \nnella nuova casa» promisi.\n     At two o’clock that \nafternoon, when I went \ndownstairs to the café for \na panino, I was taken aback \nat sight of all my belongings \nout on the sidewalk, ready to \nbe loaded onto the moving van. \nNot that I had this amazing \nprofusion of possessions. \nStill though – it was an odd \nfeeling. Suddenly you \nsee something deeply private \nexposed, for anyone to look at. \nThere were my daily objects, \nstrange now, somehow unfamiliar. \nLike they belonged to somebody \nelse – who knows who – someone \nwho’d just mysteriously decided \nto change addresses. The kettle \nyou use every morning suddenly \nseems on the verge of vanishing, \nalong with your umbrella stand, \nthat box of stones collected \nat random, the Empire-style \nnightstand, the carpet bought \nat that bazaar in Istanbul...\nAn exodus, a diaspora. \nI forgot about my lunch and \nbolted back upstairs, taking \nthe steps two at a time.\n«Here, I’ll take that item down \nmyself,» I told the movers.\nWe rode down together in the \nelevator, just us two. As if \nto reassure her, I sat down \non her. It seemed to help.\n«You’ll be the very first \none to enter our new home,» \nI promised her.\n",21,{"image":95,"text":96,"number":97},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.22.png","41\n40\n15.\nVibrazioni oniriche\nDreamlike vibrations\n     Non avete idea di quante cose si possano capire \ndal modo in cui un uomo accavalla le gambe. \nO da quello di una donna di appoggiarsi allo schienale. \nQui passano tante persone. Attendono di sorvolare un oceano. \nDi attraversare due continenti o un deserto senza fine. \nGli esseri umani sanno stare a diecimila metri come se niente \nfosse. Alcuni di loro, in attesa di volare, parlano al \ntelefono. Altri guardano un film. Altri ancora si abbandonano \nal sonno. Nel tempo, ho imparato a riconoscere i loro sogni \ndalle vibrazioni oniriche che sprigionano. Vi sono affermati \nimprenditori che rivedono un cortile da cui sono passati a \ndue anni, un’estate. Alcune ragazze si trasformano in sirene \ne scompaiono fra le onde. \nI bambini capita che cavalchino elefanti, cavalli o tigri. \nUn giorno una signora vecchissima si rivide da ragazzina, \nmentre si arrampicava su un albero. \nEra prima della guerra, e indossava un grembiule giallo \ncon su un omino che salutava da un piccolo bastimento.  \n     You can really have no idea of all the things you can \nlearn from the way a man crosses his legs. Or how a woman \nleans against a backrest. I see so many people here, \nas they wait for their transatlantic flights.\nWaiting for flights across not one continent but two, \nor some boundless desert. Human beings know how to fly up \nto 30,000 feet as if it were the most natural thing on earth. \nSome of them chat on the phone. Some watch movies. Others \nplunge into sleep. Over time, I’ve learned to read their \ndreams from the very faint vibrations that they unleash. \nTitans of industry glimpse dreamscapes of a courtyard they \nwalked through when they were two years old, one long-ago \nsummer. Young women are transformed into mermaids and vanish \nbeneath the waves. Children might breathe fast as they ride \non the backs of elephants or horses or tigers. \nOnce, I recall, a very old woman saw herself again as \na little girl, shinnying up a tree. That had been before \nthe war, and she wore a yellow pinafore with a tiny \nembroidered sailor waving from a little boat.   \n",22,{"image":99,"text":100,"number":101},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.23.png","43\n42\n16.\nTempo bellissimo\nBeautiful weather\n     Ho sempre detestato dovermi \noccupare di regali. Ma quell’anno \nmi toccò. Il professore avrebbe \nconcluso il suo mandato a giugno \ne io fui ritenuta da tutti la \npersona più adatta per scegliere \nla cosa giusta. \nMa cosa puoi regalare a uno che \nda sessant’anni frequenta, più \nche persone, supernove, comete, \nbuchi neri? dico io. Un pullover \nin cachemire? Un trekking alle \nCanarie? Un servizio da caffè \nin argento sbalzato? All’inizio \npensai a un pezzo di modernariato \nanni Cinquanta, il lampadario \nSputnik. Ma mi figurai subito \nlo sguardo di disappunto con \ncui l’avrebbe accolto. \nIl senso estetico di chi ogni \ngiorno naviga fra le galassie \nsegue strade poco convenzionali. \nPoi un giorno, poco prima di \nNatale, mentre girovagavo senza \nmeta per il centro, per sfuggire \nall’atmosfera frenetica degli \nacquisti, mi inoltrai in un \nvicolo e finii davanti al negozio \ndi un rigattiere. \nIn vetrina c’era una stampa: \nPerseo che salva Andromeda \ndal drago. Il regalo perfetto. \nA settembre mi mandò una \ncartolina dalla sua casa al \nmare. Diceva: «Tempo bellissimo. \nAspetto la tua visita. \nPS Ho appeso i ragazzi e il \nserpentone sulla parete dello \nstudio davanti alla mia poltrona. \nTi salutano».\n     If there’s one thing \nI’ve always loathed, it’s \nshopping for gifts. That year, \nthough, I just couldn’t wriggle \nout of it. The head professor \nwould be taking his pension \nin June, and everyone seemed \nto agree I was the most suitable \ncandidate to pick the perfect \nretirement present. But what \ndo you give someone who, for the \npast sixty years, has spent more \ntime with supernovas, comets, \nand black holes than with actual \nhuman beings? What? A cashmere \nsweater? A trekking excursion to \nthe Canary Islands? A repoussé\n-silver coffee set? At first, \nI thought of a midcentury modern \nitem – a Sputnik chandelier. \nBut I could already picture \nhis glance of disappointment. \nAesthetic sensibilities forged \nin the intergalactic realm rarely \nfollow conventional paths. \nThen, one day, just before \nChristmas, I was wandering \naround in the city center, doing \nmy best to escape the frantic \nholiday shopping rush. I turned \ndown a narrow alley and came \nface to face with an antique \nshop. In the shop window was an \nengraved print: Perseus Freeing \nAndromeda from the Dragon. \nThe perfect gift. \nThat September, I received \na postcard from his seaside home. \nIt read: «Beautiful weather. \nAwaiting your visit. P.S. I hung \nthe picture of the youngsters \nand that mammoth snake on the \nwall of my studio, where \nI can see it from my armchair. \nThey all send their regards».\n",23,{"image":103,"text":104,"number":105},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.24.png","44\n17.\nDue stelle\nTwo stars\n     «Abbiamo imparato a cucinare da nostra nonna, in un \nvillaggio nella giungla, nel Myanmar,» spiegarono le due \nchef alla giornalista. «La nostra Wild Kitchen Outdoor è \nnata da lei, imitando i suoi gesti, inventando piatti a base \ndi rametti, foglie e fango. L’arte di impiattare viene da lì». \n«Dal fango alle stelle Michelin...»\n«Due stelle. Una per ciascuna. Vede, noi detestiamo doverci \ndividere le cose. Questo fatto ci affligge dall’infanzia. \nQuando chiunque può vedere quanto siamo diverse. Non siamo \ncerto come quelle coppie di gemelli che si vestono uguali \neccetera. Amiamo distinguerci».\nLa giornalista le fissò, sgomenta: su due poltrone identiche, \nerano vestite identiche. Fino all’ultimo dettaglio.\n«Oggi è un caso» puntualizzarono in sincrono, un po’ seccate, \nportando simultaneamente alle labbra la loro famosa bevanda \nal lime con due gesti perfettamente uguali. \n     «Our grandmother taught us to cook back in Myanmar, \nin a village deep in the jungle,» the two twin chefs told \nthe journalist. «Our Wild Outdoor Kitchen was based entirely \non her teachings. We imitated everything she did, inventing \ndishes based on twigs, leaves, and mud. That’s where we \nlearned the art of plating».\n«So, from the mud to two Michelin stars...»\n«That’s right, two stars. One star each. You understand, \nwe don’t like sharing. We’ve been that way since were kids. \nIt’s been a problem our whole lives. After all, anyone can \nsee how different we are. We’re not like those twins who \ndress alike and talk alike. We love being different».\nThe journalist stared at them. She was dumbfounded: \nsitting in two identical armchairs, the twins were dressed \nidentically. Right down to the tiniest detail.\n«Today’s just a fluke,» they both explained in unison, \nclearly annoyed, lifting their famous lime-infused beverage \nto their lips simultaneously, tipping the glasses back with \nidentical synchronized gestures.\n",24,{"image":107,"text":43,"number":108},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.25.png",25,{"image":110,"text":111,"number":112},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.26.png","49\n18.\nAnniversario?!\nAnniversary?!\n     Il corriere arrivò all’una, \nannunciato dallo squillo di \ncampanello. Pensò al contratto \nche stava aspettando da un editore, \ninvece si ritrovò di fronte \na un gigantesco scatolone. \nL’addetto non fornì risposte, \nchiese solo che firmasse per \nla consegna. Mancava il mittente, \nma in compenso, mentre apriva \nl’involto, spuntò una busta. \nDentro c’era un delizioso \ncartoncino vittoriano: \n«Sorpresa!» trillava giulivo. \n«In occasione del nostro \nanniversario!» Anniversario?! \nNon aveva alcun anniversario da \nfesteggiare. Nessuna ricorrenza \nda condividere. \nCertamente doveva essere un \ndisguido, magari un caso di \nomonimia. Dall’imballo uscì una \npoltrona bellissima: elegante, \nchic, perfetta. \nInsomma, esattamente il suo \ngenere. Dunque, era qualcuno \nche sembrava conoscerlo bene. \nMa chi? Thomas? Edward? \nO magari quel Jules incontrato \nal congresso dell’anno prima \ne mai più rivisto... \n«In attesa di chiarimenti» decise, \n«la sistemerò qui: il bowindo \nsembra fatto per lei».\n     The delivery man came \nat one o’clock, his arrival \nheralded by the doorbell \ndownstairs. So he assumed this \nwould be the contract he was \nexpecting from his publisher. \nInstead, he found himself \nface-to-face with a gigantic \ncrate. The delivery man offered \nno explanation, just asked \nfor a signature. No name of \nsender. But as he pried open \nthe crate, an envelope emerged. \nIt contained a charming \nVictorian greeting card. \n«Surprise!» it chirped. \n«In honor of our anniversary!» \nAnniversary?! He had no \nanniversary to celebrate. \nNo special occasion to \ncommemorate. Surely there’d \nbeen some error. Perhaps a case \nof mistaken identity. \nFrom the crate emerged a \nbeautiful armchair – exquisite, \nelegant, ideal. In other words, \njust his style.\nSo, this was from someone who \nknew him well. But who? Thomas? \nEdward? Or perhaps that Jules, \nfrom last year’s conference but \nnever seen again...\n«Until I get to the bottom of \nthis,» he decided, «I’ll set \nher right here. This bow window \nseems built just for her».\n",26,{"image":114,"text":115,"number":116},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.27.png","51\n50\n19.\nUn ospite importante\nA special guest \n     Era notte e, girovagando in cerca dell’indirizzo \ndell’appartamento dove si sarebbe tenuta la cena, si perse. \nDoveva essere finito per sbaglio in una di quelle dimensioni \nparallele che ogni tanto si palesano nei sogni. Luoghi che \nriconosci, sai che esistono perché altre volte ci sei stato, \npiù reali della realtà, ma inaccessibili, se non nel sonno. \nGuardò l’ora sul telefono. \nNon che si preoccupasse troppo di quel ritardo: a un ospite \nimportante si perdona tutto, persino di non presentarsi. \nFece mente locale: non si perdeva da che era piccolo. \nEra come svegliarsi all’improvviso e vedere tutto cambiato. \nChe giorno era? Dove si trovava? Non sapeva niente di quella \ncittà notturna, con le sue case basse, irregolari, i vicoli \nsempre più stretti, gli ideogrammi sulle insegne sghembe. \nSi fermò davanti a una piccola vetrina che risplendeva nel \nbuio. Nel suo cuore cavo brillava una poltrona. \nUn vecchietto da dentro gli fece cenno di entrare. \nRideva, tutto contento. \n«Non la riconosci? È la tua!» \n     Night had fallen and as he’d gone wandering in search \nof the apartment where the dinner party was to be held, \nhe lost his way. He’d somehow stumbled into a parallel \ndimension, the kind you sometimes find in dreams. Places \nyou recognize, that you know exist because you’ve been there \nbefore. They’re realer than real, yet impossible to reach \n– except in your sleep. \nHe checked his phone for the time. Not that he was too \nworried about being late. A guest of his eminence could \nbe forgiven anything. Even for missing the dinner party \nentirely. He tried to get his bearings. He’d never been \nlost, not since he was a child. He felt like he’d just \nwoken up to find everything different. What day was this? \nWhere was he? He knew nothing about this city of night, with \nits low houses, unevenly shaped, its alleys growing narrower \nand narrower, its signs askew, covered with ideograms. \nHe stopped before front of a small shop window, glowing in \nthe dark. Inside its hollow heart, an armchair gleamed and \nan old man beckoned, inviting him in. The old man laughed, \nbeaming with contentment. \n«Don’t you recognize this? It’s yours!»\nALLUNGARE \nFONDO di contorno\nSUI BORDI\nPER ABBONDANZE\n",27,{"image":118,"text":119,"number":120},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.28.png","52\n20.\nPassaggio di stagione\nChange of season\n     Quando nevica, il silenzio \nsfiora la grande vetrata che dà \nsul fiume. \nDi fronte gli abitanti della casa \nhanno messo due poltrone, come \ndavanti a uno schermo. \nOsservano il modo in cui la vita \ndel giardino avvolge la casa, \nfra terra e cielo, inviando \nmessaggi con la delicatezza che \nhanno gli animali, le erbe, gli \nalberi. Brevi comunicazioni \ninvernali. Il brusio dell’acqua, \nl’aria di cristallo, la nebbia. \nOgni passaggio di stagione è \nscritto nel modo in cui cambiano \nle luci, i rumori. Una notte, \nè un ramo che tocca il muro, \nmosso dal vento. La mattina \npresto, due cigni che fanno il \nnido nel canneto. A mezzogiorno \nun merlo che si avvicina \nsaltellando. Esce il sole. \nIl gatto si rivolge alla ragazza \nseduta. «Vorrei uscire» chiede.\nIl bambino gattona sul tappeto. \nLe grandi peonie ricamate, \nper lui sono un giardino. \nUn anticipo di quello che \nconoscerà a primavera.\n     When it snows, silence \nbrushes against the large window \nthat overlooks the river. \nIn front of that window, the people \nwho live there have placed two \narmchairs, as if before a movie \nscreen. They watch the way life \nin the garden envelops the house, \nbetween the earth below and the \nsky above, transmitting messages \nwith all the delicacy typical \nof animals, plants, and trees. \nTerse wintry communications. \nThe murmur of water, \ncrystal-clear air, mist. Every \nchange of seasons is written \nin the way that light and sounds \nchange. One night, it might be \na branch tossed by the wind so \nthat it taps against the wall. \nOne day at dawn, two swans \nnesting in the cane brake. \nOr at noon, a blackbird hopping \ncloser. The sun comes out. \nThe cat looks up at the young \nwoman sitting nearby. «I’d like \nto go out,» the cat asks. \nThe baby scampers across the \ncarpet. The large embroidered \npeonies are, to the baby, \na garden. A foreshadowing \nof the garden he’ll discover \nin spring.\n",28,{"image":122,"text":43,"number":123},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.29.png",29,{"image":125,"text":126,"number":127},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.30.png","56\n21.\nUn bambino minuscolo\nA tiny child \n     Domenica mattina, a colazione, Ruben mi presentò il \nsuo amico. «Hans vuole solo ciambelle e ananas» mi informò, \nindicandomi il piattino vuoto davanti a cui non sedeva nessuno. \nSugli amici immaginari ricordai di aver sentito parlare \ndurante un corso all’università, anni prima: \ninvenzioni geniali della psiche infantile per trovare \nla giusta compagnia in periodi particolari della crescita. \nTrovai fantastico sedere alla stessa tavola di uno di loro. \nNon mi era mai capitato. \n«Più tardi andremo a pattinare. Hans dice che puoi venire» \naggiunse, magnanimo, Ruben.\nNelle settimane successive, lo conobbi meglio. Si trattava \ndi un bambino minuscolo, un po’ selvatico, con uno strano \ncarattere. Amava stare appeso al lampadario, a testa in giù, \nnascondersi nei cassetti, ovunque ce ne fosse uno. \nE poi, colonizzò la poltrona. Nessuno per i tre mesi che \nsi fermò da noi, osò più sedercisi. Praticamente ci abitava, \nacciambellato come un gatto dentro al mio colbacco uzbeko.  \n     At breakfast on Sunday morning, Ruben introduced me \nto his friend. «Hans won’t eat anything but pineapple and \ndoughnuts,» he informed me, pointing at the empty plate \nset out in front of what appeared to be Nobody at all.\nI remembered learning about imaginary friends in a class \nat university years ago – brilliant inventions springing \nfrom deep in a child’s psyche, conjured up to provide \ncompanionship during certain stages of development. \nI found it captivating to be actually sitting at the same \ntable as one of those creatures. Nothing like this had \never happened to me before.\n«This afternoon, we’re going skating. Hans says it’s \nall right if you come, too,» Ruben added magnanimously.\nIn the weeks that followed, I got to know Hans better. \nHe was a tiny child, a bit on the wild side, with an \nodd personality. He loved hanging upside down by his knees \nfrom the chandelier, hiding in drawers: any drawer anywhere. \nAnd then, he took over the armchair, colonizing it as his own. \nFor the three months he spent with us, no one else dared to \nsit in it. He practically lived there, curled up like a cat \ninside my Uzbek fur hat.\n",30,{"image":129,"text":130,"number":131},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.31.png","59\n22.\nLo metteremo a sedere qui\nWe’ll seat him here\n     «Vuole venire da noi? \nÈ il compleanno di Ernestine. \nUna cosa informale per \nfesteggiare il giro di boa \ndei nove». Era la prima volta \nche il mio capo mi si rivolgeva \ncosì e, per quanto fossi \ndistrutto, non osai declinare \nla proposta. Uscito dallo studio, \ncorsi a casa, feci una doccia \nrapida e mi cambiai. Poi mi si \npose il problema di cosa diavolo \nportare alla festeggiata novenne. \nForse i signori cinesi del \ngigantesco emporio all’angolo, \npotevano essere la soluzione.\nQuando suonai alla porta, \nil capo mi venne incontro.\n«Entri, entri! La porto subito \na conoscere la festeggiata!»  \nErnestine chiacchierava in mezzo \nun gruppo di giovanotti: una \nvecchissima, brillante signora \nin un abito rosso fuoco.\n«Mamma, guarda cosa ti ha \nportato Alain!» Dalla carta a \npagode dorate del pacco emerse \nil gigantesco orso di peluche \nche avevo acquistato.\n«Uh! Ma che pensiero originale, \nAlain! Erano almeno ottantacinque \nanni che nessuno mi regalava \nuna cosa così morbida! \nLo metteremo a sedere qui»\ndisse, strizzandomi l’occhio. \n«Ci starà comodissimo! \nVenga a bere qualcosa, caro».\n     «Would you like to come \nover? It's Ernestine’s birthday. \nJust an informal little \ncelebration as she turns nine».\nThis was the first time my boss \nhad ever reached out to me that \nway and, exhausted though I was, \nI didn’t dare turn down the \ninvitation. As soon as I left \nthe office, I hurried home, \ntook a quick shower, and changed \nclothes. But then I realized \nthe problem I faced: what do \nthe devil was I going to get a \nnine-year-old for her birthday? \nPerhaps the gentlemen at the huge \nChinese emporium on the corner \ncould come up with the answer to \nmy quandary. I rang the doorbell \nand my boss welcomed me in.\n«Come in, come in! Let me \nintroduce you to the birthday \ngirl!» Ernestine was chatting \naway, surrounded by a coterie \nof young men – a spirited, \nimmensely elderly old lady \nin a fire engine-red dress. \n«Mama, just look what Alain \nhas brought you!»\nThe floppy giant teddy bear \nI had bought on a whim was hardly \nconcealed by the gold-pagoda \ngiftwrap. «Ooh! What a novel and \nenchanting gift, Alain! I don’t \nthink anyone’s given me anything \nthis soft and cuddly in at least \neighty-five years! We’ll let \nhim sit right here beside me,» \nshe told me, with a wink. \n«He’ll be so comfortable! Now, \ncome have a drink, my dear».\n",31,{"image":133,"text":43,"number":134},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.32.png",32,{"image":136,"text":137,"number":138},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.33.png","63\n62\n23.\nFedeltà\nLoyalty\n     Col tempo mi sono convinto che non ci sia niente \ndi male nel confermare loro il dogma della mia fedeltà. \nLi gratifica. Al parco si scambiano aneddoti con altri \nproprietari di cani. Sono certi che nessuno possa starmi \nalla pari. Se potessero misurare le mie onde cerebrali \nquando per strada avvisto un ratto, scoprirebbero che \nl’intensità della mia beatitudine è trenta volte maggiore \ndi quella che mi ispira la loro vista. Per non parlare \ndella gioia inesauribile che mi procura anche solo \nla memoria olfattiva di un biscotto al pollo. Sono dotati \ndi un sistema sensoriale talmente limitato che non hanno \nalcuna idea della reale misura del mondo. Per esempio, \nmi fa tenerezza che interpretino la mia postura ai loro \npiedi come un omaggio alla propria eccellenza. \nNulla sanno dei lunghi, meravigliosi dialoghi con questa \npoltrona, della nostra decennale amicizia.\n     With the passing years, I’ve come to the conviction \nthat there’s nothing wrong about confirming their unwavering \nbelief in my own unwavering loyalty. It pleases them, somehow. \nAt the park, they trade stories with other dog owners. \nThey feel certain that no one could rival me in that area. \nBut if they could only measure my brain waves when I spot \na rat out on the street, they’d soon realize that \nthe intensity of that bliss is thirty times greater than \nwhat I feel when I lay eyes on them. To say nothing of the \nbottomless cornucopia of joy inspired in me by the mere \nolfactory recollection of a chicken biscuit. \nTheir sensory systems are so truncated that they possess no \nreal notion of the true scale of this world. For instance, \nI find it amusing that they choose to interpret my posture \nat their feet as some sort of tribute to their greatness. \nNo, they really can’t imagine the extended, wonderful \nconversations I carry on with this armchair; \nno idea of the decade-long friendship we share.\n",33,{"image":140,"text":141,"number":142},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.34.png","64\n24.\nPudim de leite\nPudim de leite \n     «Cari Giulia e Lorenzo, finalmente mi sono sistemato \nnella nuova casa. È piccola, ma è quel che fa per me. \nLa scorsa settimana ho cominciato a frequentare il nuovo \nstudio e direi che è come lo avevo immaginato. \nUn caos indescrivibile. Ho messo la poltrona accanto \nal tappeto, come mi avete detto. La mia vicina di casa, \nuna signora che sembra uscita da un romanzo di Amado, mi ha \nfatto molti complimenti e un sacco di domande su di voi, così \nle ho mostrato le vostre foto. Le sei molto piaciuto, papà, \ne dice che, tu, mamma, sei sputata a sua cugina Eduarda. \nIeri sera mi ha portato quella che ritiene una delizia della \ncucina locale, il famoso Pudim de leite. Non so bene come \nfarò a finirlo, ma in effetti è buono. Ora vado a chiudere \nla finestra perché ieri sera a un certo punto mi sono \nritrovato una scimmia seduta sul frigo. Insieme a questa \nlettera, vi mando molti abbracci» \n     «Dear Giulia and Lorenzo, I’m finally settled into \nmy new place. It’s small, but it’s just what I was looking \nfor. Last week, I started working at the new design studio, \nand I have to say it’s exactly as I feared. Sheer bedlam. \nI put the armchair next to the carpet, just as you both \nsuggested. My neighbor, a woman who looks like she walked \nout of a Jorge Amado novel, had so many nice things to say \nand asked lots of questions about each of you. \nSo I showed her pictures. She really took a liking to you, \nPapa, and as for you, Mama, she says you’re the spitting \nimage of her cousin Eduarda. Last night she brought over \nwhat she considers a local delicacy – the famous Pudim de \nleite. I’ll never be able to finish it, but it’s actually \ndelicious. Now I’m going to go close the window tight \n– yesterday evening, to my surprise, I found a monkey \nsitting on top of the fridge. Along with this letter, \nI send you hugs and kisses» \n",34,{"image":144,"text":43,"number":145},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.35.png",35,{"image":147,"text":148,"number":149},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.36.png","69\n25.\nLa collezione\nThe collection\n     Aveva cominciato con qualche \nvasetto comprato al mercato: \nprimule, narcisi, un mandarino \ncinese, alcune aromatiche. \nSi accorse che appena entravano \nnel suo raggio di azione, \ncominciavano a prosperare: \nun rigoglio che non si aspettava. \nNella sua famiglia le piante \nerano concepite unicamente \nin insalata. Stupefatta, aveva \nosato con specie più difficili: \nfelci, camelie, persino orchidee. \nUn trionfo. \nDa allora la collezione si \naccrebbe vertiginosamente. \nAlla fine, decise, era tempo di \npensare in grande. Cambiò casa. \nNe trovò una minuscola, ma con \nun po’ di giardino e una serra, \nuno spazio dove lei e le piante \navrebbero vissuto insieme. \nLa sera, prima del sonno, seduta \nin poltrona, leggeva loro \nqualche pagina. Romanzi, poesie, \nracconti. Ma si era accorta \nche apprezzavano soprattutto \ni thriller psicologici. \nE chi l’avrebbe mai detto?\n     It all started with a few \nflowerpots purchased at the \nfarmers market – primroses, \ndaffodils, a kumquat tree, \nvarious herbs. She started to \nnotice that no sooner did they \ncome under her supervision than \nthey perked up and began to \nflourish: a green thumb she’d \nnever suspected she possessed. \nThe only greenery she’d known \ngrowing up was in the salad bowl \nat dinner. Astonished, she took \non greater challenges with more \ntemperamental plants: ferns, \ncamellias, even orchids. \nAnd the results were triumphant. \nAfter that her garden grew apace. \nAt last, she decided it was time \nto think big. She moved to \na smaller house, but one that \nhad a yard of its own and \na greenhouse where she and \nher plants could live together \ncomfortably. Every night, \nbefore bed, she would sit in \nher armchair and read to them. \nNovels, poetry, short stories. \nIn time, though, she noticed \nthat they had a clear preference \nin genre–psychological thrillers. \nWho’d have ever guessed?\n",36,{"image":151,"text":152,"number":153},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.37.png","71\n26.\nZazie\nZazie\n     Da qualche settimana si era accorta che i sogni \ndi quella paziente erano invenzioni belle e buone. \nCerto, anche un’invenzione può essere interessante dal punto \ndi vista analitico. Ma qui c’era qualcosa che non tornava. \nLa ragazza, ormai, stava benissimo, e si stava ingegnando \ndi trovare pretesti per continuare a frequentare lo studio. \nAvrebbe dovuto parlarne con il suo supervisore, ma non si \ndecideva. Di solito lo consultava per casi complessi, vicende \ndi transfert e controtransfert. Ma qui... Quella aveva smesso \ndi ascoltarla. A volte, perfino, si appisolava! Si sentiva \ndisorientata, perfino un po’ beffata, da quella mancanza \ndi considerazione per il suo ruolo. \nAlla fine, un pomeriggio, si decise: «Lei è guarita, Zazie. \nÈ decisamente ora di salutarsi». \n«Peccato,» rispose, sorniona, la ragazza. «Questa chaise \nlongue è la cosa più meravigliosa su cui mi sia mai capitato \ndi sedermi».\n     For several weeks now, it had become clear to her \nthat her patient’s dreams were complete inventions. \nNo doubt, even invented dreams can have a certain interest, \nanalytically speaking. But there was something odd about \nit all. The young woman was doing just fine by this point, \nand yet she seemed to be coming up with excuses to go on \nwith her therapy sessions. She knew that she ought to have \ndiscussed it with her supervisor, but she kept putting it \noff. She usually only consulted him on challenging cases, \nsay, issues of transference and countertransference. \nBut in this case, however... The young woman had stopped \nmaking any pretense of listening to her at all. Now and \nthen, she actually catnapped! The therapist felt perplexed \n– mocked, even – by her lack of respect for her as a \nprofessional. At last, one afternoon, she confronted her. \n«Zazie, you’re cured. It’s definitely time to say goodbye». \n«What a pity,» replied the girl, smirking. \n«This chaise longue is the most fabulous thing I’ve ever \nhad the pleasure of sitting in».\n",37,{"image":155,"text":43,"number":156},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.38.png",38,{"image":158,"text":159,"number":160},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.39.png","74\n27.\nLa dea della moda\nThe goddess of fashion\n     Diluviava e non aveva \nl’ombrello. Si guardò intorno, \nangosciata. Sarebbe arrivata \nalla sfilata in uno stato \npietoso, con i capelli fradici, \nle scarpe infangate. \nQuando arrivò allo showroom, \nla situazione era anche peggio \ndel previsto. Sudata per la corsa, \nil trucco in pericolo, il cappotto \nzuppo. Un’amica che studiava \nantropologia una volta le \naveva detto che alcuni sciamani \nimmaginano di indossare \nun mantello di volpe per rendersi \ninvisibili. Provò a fare lo \nstesso. In effetti dopo qualche \nminuto si rese conto che nessuno \nla guardava. Come se non \nesistesse. Possibile? «Sa che \ncosa mi fa venire in mente» \ndisse una voce alle sue spalle. \n«Una volpe durante una battuta \ndi caccia». Era la dea della \nmoda in persona a parlarle. \nLa fissò, incredula. \n«Venga con me, le do qualcosa \ndi asciutto. I capelli sono \nperfetti spettinati». \nDopo qualche minuto, entrò \nin sala con un abito che sembrava \nesserle stato cucito addosso \ne fu pregata di accomodarsi \nsu una delle poltrone riservate.\n     It was pouring out and \nshe hadn’t brought an umbrella. \nShe frantically looked around \nin all directions. She’d be \na dripping mess by the time \nshe arrived at the runway \nshow-hair drenched, shoes muddy. \nWhen she finally reached the \nshowroom, things had gone even \nworse than she feared. Out of \nbreath from running, her makeup \nteetering dangerously, her coat \nsopping wet. One of her friends, \nan anthropologist, had told her \nthat certain shamans visualize \nwearing a fox-fur cloak to \nbecome invisible. She tried that \nout. After a few minutes, she \nrealized that absolutely no one \nwas looking at her. It was as \nif she didn’t even exist. Could \nthis be? «You know what I think \nof when I look at you?» spoke a \nvoice behind her. «A fox during \na fox hunt». It was none other \nthan the Fashion Goddess herself. \nShe gawked in disbelief. \n«Come along, I’ll find something \ndry for you to wear. Your hair \nis perfect just the way it is \nadorably tousled». \nMinutes later, she strode into \nthe auditorium in a dress that \nfit like it had been custom \nmade. She was ushered to a \nreserved seat in one of the \nfront row armchairs.\n",39,{"image":162,"text":163,"number":164},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.40.png","76\n28.\nUn buco nero\nA black hole \n     «Facciamo che eravamo \ndue astronauti».\n«No, io non ero un astronauta, \nio ero un’astronave».\n«Allora anche io ero l’astronave»\n«No, tu eri la base spaziale. \nIo ero l’astronave».\n«No, allora facciamo che eravamo \ntutti e due l’astronave e \ni comandi non rispondevano».\n«Va bene. Così mandavano \nuna spedizione a cercarci».\n«Bambini, andate a lavarvi\nle mani».\n«Mamma, sono interrotte tutte \nle comunicazioni!»\n«Non vedi che stiamo dirigendoci \na velocità pazzesca verso \nun buco nero?»\n«Benissimo, in questi casi \nun passato di verdura è quello \nche ci vuole».\n«Le astronavi non vanno a passato \ndi verdura!»\n«Ah no? E a cosa vanno, allora?\n«Pizza!»\n     «Let’s pretend we’re \ntwo astronauts».\n«No, you be an astronaut. \nI’m a spaceship».\n«Then let me be a spaceship,too».\n«No, you be the space station. \nI’m the spaceship».\n«No, then let’s say we’re both \nspaceships, but maybe our \ncontrols have stopped working».\n«Okay. So that means they’re \ngoing to have to launch \na mission to rescue us».\n«Kids, time to wash your hands».\n«Mama, all communication \nsystems are down!»\n«Mama, can’t you see we’re \nhurtling into a black hole?!»\n«Delighted to hear it. \nIn emergencies like this, cream \nof vegetable soup is exactly \nwhat’s called for».\n«Spaceships don’t run on cream \nof vegetable soup!»\n«Oh, they don’t? \nWhat do hey run on?»\n«Pizza!»\n",40,{"image":166,"text":43,"number":167},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.41.png",41,{"image":169,"text":170,"number":171},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.42.png","80\n29.\nUn delizioso torpore\nA delightful languor \n     Ogni mattina siedo qui \ne leggo un quotidiano. \nNon sempre lo stesso. Mi piace \ncambiare. Non capisco come sia \npossibile preferire lo schermo \ndi un telefono alla pagina. \nGià leggere le cronache \ninternazionali non procura che \npreoccupazioni, ma leggerle in \ncorpo due è veramente volersi \nmale. Soprattutto, poi, la carta \nevita il fastidio di dover \nprendere atto delle opinioni \numane su ogni notizia del giorno. \nZero commenti. Zero possibilità \ndi litigare con sconosciuti \ne di delirare in pubblico. \nSiedi, sfogli le pagine, leggi \ne pensi. Punto. \nE se la poltrona è molto, molto \ncomoda, come questa, un delizioso \ntorpore ti avverte di quando \nun rinomato opinionista ti sta \nfacendo addormentare anziché \nrisvegliare la tua attenzione...\n     Every morning, I sit \nhere and read the newspaper. \nNot always the same paper. \nI like to switch things up. \nI don’t understand how anyone \ncould prefer reading on a phone \nrather than actual newsprint. \nReading about geopolitical \naffairs is worrisome enough \n– but reading about it in 2pt \nphone font is just masochistic. \nWhat’s more, reading a real \nnewspaper means you don’t have \nto subject yourself to the \nclamor of opinion from humanity \nat large concerning every \nsingle news item. Zero comments. \nZero risk of arguing with stran-\ngers or ranting deliriously in \npublic. You sit down, you leaf \nfrom page to page, you read, \nand you think. That’s all. \nAnd if the armchair happens \nto be extremely comfortable, \nas this one is, then a delightful \ndrowsiness comes over you, \na warning sign that a highly \nrespected columnist is putting \nyou to sleep instead of \nawakening your interest...\n",42,{"image":173,"text":174,"number":175},"\u002Fmedia\u002Fimages\u002Fea\u002Fc6ea35c5dbc511ce35fed1dac97088-28e27c524e.43.png","83\n30.\nUna cosa su cui sedersi\nSomething to sit on\n     Da dove sia piovuta, non \nl’ho capito. Fatto sta che un \ngiorno, eccola, si piazza qui, \ne con quella sua aria sorniona, \ninformale, anticonformista, \nattira l’attenzione di tutti. \nNon ci sono occhi che per lei. \nE che originalità, e che classe, \ne che glamour, e di qui, \ne di là... Ma dico io, siete \ndiventati tutti ciechi? \nHa le gambe corte, è bassa, \nè larga... Vuoi mettere il mio \nslancio, le mie proporzioni, \nle mie gambe? Niente, fanno a \ngara per conquistarla anche solo \nper cinque minuti. 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