Night falls on the city of Matera, as it has for thousands of years.

As soon as the sun has set, the youngsters gather around the piazza; drinking, flaunting and flirting themselves silly. Youthful egos need all the boosting they can get. They commit every last drop of energy to making an impression, so as to s ueeze every possible driblet of esteem from e ually feeble egos, convinced that their fountain of youth shall never go dry. Night falls on the Sassi di Matera; on prehistoric cave d!ellings, dug into the hills, conserved for modern use by sheer persistence of basic human necessities. Night falls on streets that function as rooftops; on one man"s ceiling that is another man"s floor. #nside these cavern houses, families are gathered around the dinner table, as they"ve been doing for hundreds of years. There"s laughter of kids and the crying of infants, mi$ed in !ith the hubbub of chatting, che!ing and the blo!ing of steam, after a long day"s !ork. %amily is the terra firma a person"s roots gro! into and nourish from, so as long as one remains !ell rooted into that familiar soil, there really is very little chance of ever going against it. Night falls on one dusty drifter; a !orn out backpacker, !ho has been !andering his day a!ay amidst the narro! alleys and along the steep ravines, !ithout a care in the !orld, his eye on a lens or his finger on the trigger. &ventually, the lone occupier of other!ise deserted streets, he must drag his sore feet, from one habitational establishment to the ne$t, in search of shelter. Alas, none !hatsoever can be found that shall fit his budget. 'ound midnight, !hen even youth have long ago abandoned the outdoors, in favor of a nice !arm bed, made even !armer had fortune been smiling upon it, our drifter too gets tired of dragging his backbony shell all across to!n and finally decides to give up this futile uest. (is shoulders are ra! and his back is aching; across his face, dust and s!eat have coalesced into smears of clay.

#n the center of to!n lies a small public park, shady and still. Time to put his trusty hammock to good use; a practically ne! Me$ican hammock, but already ripped at the feet of a reckless backpacker back in )enezia. Time to cra!l into the sleeping bag and steal a fe! hours of rest for the old bones; the !ithered roots, still trying to feed on the residue of a fountain, e$hausted long ago. Time to drift into a dream !ithin a dream, !here every butterfly is king, and every king is dressed in the most e$ uisite of garments only he cannot see. *ust before da!n, at the darkest and coldest of hours, all the sprinklers across the park suddenly come to life, gleefully chuffing and spraying every each !ay, and !hat !as once a safe haven is transformed all of a sudden into a demented midnight sho!er. +ne e$ uisitely underdressed king cocoons himself, and emerges as a delicately naked butterfly. The butterfly then stretches its !ings, and slo!ly surfaces as an e$ uisitely drenched drifter, cocooned inside a soggy sleeping bag, hanging on a dripping hammock, above a soaked backpack, lying in the middle of a grimy puddle. ,ome residents of central Matera might possibly recall being a!oken that particular summer night, at the break of the ne! millennium, to the unintelligible sound of the foulest of s!earing, made in a !ide range of tongues, some of !hich long ago forgotten. After frantically struggling to free himself from his hammocky !eb; !ith !ater still pouring out of his clothes and earth!orms cra!ling in and out of his backpack; !hile sleep-slushing a!ay from utter madness, the first sunrays of a brand ne! day start slo!ly creeping in on the sleepy to!n. ,hivering under the !retchedness of his predicament, he no! must find a !arm rooftop and hang himself and all his stuff to dry. .ying on that rooftop, as naked as a king; as delicate as a butterfly, he !ould again drift into far a!ay realms, !here sprinklers rule the earth, and no man is ever left high or dry. /// Night falls on the city of Napoli, s!eeping a!ay the last strings of daytime purposefulness.

%olks finally allo! themselves to put aside daily duties and burdens, immersing themselves instead in the little purposeless 0oys that make life !orth living. As soon as darkness chases a!ay the last shreds of daylight, tran uility finally takes a hold over the hearts and minds of men; of those !ho let it do so any!ay. The morning cro!d is mostly composed of passersby, on their !ay to and fro the many liabilities and technicalities modern life demands. At nighttime, a different state of mind is dra!n to the streets; to the restaurants, bars and cafes; to!ards interactions and pleasures, for !hich obscurity is a life force all to its o!n. Night falls on !hole neighborhoods; on endless ro!s of similar apartment buildings, each made out of identical little compartments. #nside those cubic cells, families are gathered around the dinner table, as they do each and every evening of their common lives. There"s the sound of television or radio broadcast, mi$ed in !ith the hubbub of chatting, che!ing and the blo!ing of steam, after a long day"s !ork. The modern family is a looser soil than the more traditional one, allo!ing roots to sometimes take their hold in neighboring plots, 0ust as long as they !on"t conceive of !andering too far off. Night also falls on one happy drifter, seated at an old fashion pizzeria, on the outskirts of a lively piazza. The cause of his delight measures him !ith even anticipation, urging him to prove his !orth; to cast the first bite. This slim, fresh beauty; this masterpiece of countless generations of craftsmanship, represents the very best #taly has to offer. ,imple yet mouth!atering, a classic blonde combination, this original is far superior to any bleached replica made any!here else around the !orld. The youngsters no! gather around the piazza, arriving in s uads of cheeky dolls and cocky guys, noisily mingling in countless displays of courting rituals, and pro0ecting !ave after !ave of Joie de vivre throughout the s uare. #n a steady stream, the cavalry 0oins in, riding their fifty cubic centimeter steeds in feats of courage, occasionally charging straight into the cro!d like bulls in the ring. 1radually, every )espa !ould get mounted, and the happy couples !ould ride off together, into the sunset. +h, ho! s!eet is Youth and ho! precious it is.

Youth might not simply be 0ust a matter of age but rather a state of mind. Nevertheless, one is very rarely a!are of its true preciousness until it"s all spent. 2y then, ho!ever, it can never again be re0uvenated. Then again, !hat does it all matter, !hen there"s an original Neapolitan pizza at your mercy3 4ith unparallel zest, the drifter charges at this culinary delight, digging in !ith his bare fingers, tearing at the soft flesh, dripping blood-red sauce all over the table, shoving into his mouth more chucks than he could che!. +nly once the challenge is fully met, and nothing but crumbs and drips remain on the tray, does he finally disengage from his heated assault, lean back and release a full hearted belch. ,everal other dinners; tourists to the last one, turn to stare in overe$hibited disgust, then resume civilly handling their pizzas !ith knives and forks. #f there is one kind of person # truly dislike in this !orld, it"s the kind of person !ho !ould prefer to use cutlery !hen eating pizza, and that is so for more reasons than # could even begin to elaborate on. Across the piazza he no! drifts, smiling kindly in the faces of youths, !ho stare in complete disinterest right through the e$perienced face of age, as if it is simply and utterly immaterial. #nto the bar he steps, for a shot of s!eet, strong, arousing coffee. (o! nice it is to have a good cup of coffee and a cigarette in unison; to be able to en0oy both caffeine and nicotine at the same time. The !orld may belong to the smokers for no!; to those !ho prefer momentary, careless 0oy to responsible, future orientated !ellbeing, but not for much longer. ,ooner rather than later, even this bizarre species !ould be driven to e$tinction by a humanity that fears and hates all that is reckless and different. +ne of these days, coffee and cigarettes !ould be defined as undesirable, then illegal, finally immoral, probably inhuman even. #dleness !ould follo!, then purposelessness, finally even the art of drifting, probably to be defined as hazardous to one"s productivity and liability to!ards society. Might as !ell smoke, drink, drift and be merry for as long as it is still tolerated. %or, if that"s not !hat (orace meant by carpe diem,5 # no longer kno! !hat is.
5

,eize the day 6.atin7

/// Night falls on the city of 2ari; on the Adriatic ,ea and this rustic to!n, !hich feeds on the countless vessels resting in its old port. +utside, in the streets, previously overflo!ing !ith hectic passersby and noisy traffic, hardly a living soul no! remains. Much the same as in formerly visited Napoli and Matera, residents of 2ari are most likely !ithin the comfort and privacy of their o!n homes as !ell. 1athered around the dinner table, they are nourishing the roots of their family trees, planted firmly in genealogical forests, !herein if a tree falls, many !ould be around to hear it. Night falls on one dusty drifter; dog-tired and lone-!olfed. (e has spent the entire day not in sightseeing, nor en0oying anything the city has to offer, but simply in dragging his feet across the old to!n, in search of a !arm, dry shelter to rest his bitterly damp bones. ,till in a state of shock from the misfortunes of the previous night; a refugee from an inspiring yet inhospitable to!n, he cares for nothing but refuge fitting his budget. Alas, no habitational establishment of that sort has been found so far. +nce darkness is done chasing a!ay the last shreds of daylight, the !eary drifter is done in as !ell. 'agged, fatigued and probably smelly 0ust as !ell; his face smeared !ith clay, all his clothes soaked and his backpack muddy. #n his desperation, he approaches t!o !omen !ho happen to be passing by; cautiously, so as not to frighten the poor souls. ,craping the very last bits of positivity he"s got left at the bottom of his soul, he manages a decent enough smile and greets them !ith a hearty buonasera,8 being greatly encouraged by the fact that they, at least, don"t appear to be running a!ay screaming. 9Perdoname. Dove un ostello aqui?:; (e politely in uires, once the pleasantries are over and done !ith, spicing up his ,panish !ith as much local accent as he can master. They, on the other hand, immediately engage him in flo!ing #talian, out of !hich he manages to pick out enough common .atin !ords to follo! most of !hat they are saying.

8 ;

1ood evening 6#talian7 &$cuse me. 4here is a hostel here3 6#talian-,panish7

+bviously, they do not kno! of a hostel nearby, as local residents don"t usually re uire alternative accommodation in their daily lives, but do recommend he !alk around the neighborhood, until he shall surely find one. 9Tutti dia caminare caminare<:= he tries his best to e$plain, again mi$ing a bit of #talian, some ,panish and a !hole lot of commonsense, !hile trying to avoid appearing too desperate to the public eye. They sympathies, they really do. A couple of decent, thirty some year old !omen, out for an evening stroll, !ho happened to ran into a soul in need and !ould very much like to help. 9Maybe in the centro,: they offer, but the drifter has already spent half the day dragging his feet all around the center, before the girl at the Tourist #nformation booth suggested he"d be better off searching around the +ld >ort instead. As desperate as he is for information; for directions to!ards the nearest e$it out of this miserable predicament, an even stronger need is no! taking precedence over all else ? the basic human need for sharing; for communicating 0oy and sorro!, frustration and amazement !ith fello! human beings. Therefore, he directly proceeds !ith a theatrical display of last night"s dramedy, complete !ith chuffing sounds and all; 0uggling !ords in the air and making his tale 0ump through loops of fire. #f only for a short moment, the sound of their laughter lifts his spirit out of the s!amps of despair, so that he once again feels that he could take it all, and !ith his chin held up high as !ell. Just a stroke of bad luck, s all. Till !ou ve been to t"e lo#est of valle! s and all t"at. $"eer up, !ou old bu%%er. $ome on. &ive us a %rin'( And so, he gives the t!o ladies a friendly grin, thanks them for their time and effort and thro!s his rucksack across his back again. They !ish him buona fortuna,@ offer him a hand for the shaking and uickly edge a!ay. #t is no great surprise that, in his disorientated state, it takes his uite a !hile to realize that there"s something out of place inside the palm of his shaken hand. As he opens that hand, a crisp one hundred mille lire note is found, innocently curled up in there.
= @

All day !alk and !alk< 6#talian-,panish7 1ood luck 6#talian7

(e then uickly catches up !ith his benefactors and attempts to e$press his gratitude, !hile trying to return the donation, making a laboriously effort to e$plain that this is not at all necessary, and that he has funds of his o!n. 9)ene, bene...:A they reply modestly, !hile gently, but firmly, declining the refund. 9#s one good ts"ing !e to do to-day. Pre%%o,B is !e !ant. +kay3: And !ith these !ords, they smile again, turn and !alk a!ay, leaving behind a stunned drifter, not a relative, nor a friend, nor even as much as a fello! countryman; a little child, no! reassured that if he shall ever happen to fall into a !ell, someone !ould surely feel compassion for him; that somebody !ould be around to at least hear the thud.

A B

+kay, it"s okay< 6same7 >lease 6same7