He left his house in Via Puccini, in front of the Teatro Dal Verme, right on the corner with Via San Giovanni sul Muro, towards Via Nirone and Via Lanzone. Although everything seemed to be covered with a light white coat, he looked up and saw the Lucio Fontana’s flickering multi-coloured ceramics that hanged from balconies. He was looking forward to the magnolia blooming in the yard of the adjacent building, designed by Asnago and Vender in the early Fifties. His heart was franticly beating because of an appointment at the Triennale. His words couldn’t keep up with his thoughts. He decided to stop just in front of a house designed by Ignazio Gardella, whose volume almost disappeared in the proportion game of the elements that composed it. He dreamed of a life with his woman in that house: furnishing it with her, choosing objects and books with her as an expression of their culture and education, smoking the last cigarette with her, and finally let her turning it off with the pestle upon the white concave surface of the marble.
