Dove non suoanano più i fucili - Europuglia

like to have a coffee with her on the hotel terrace (at the bottom of the A3 page she
had used to write her letter, this time Eugene had added a redundant PhD). The following
day after a chat with a Genevan astronomer on holiday, I saw Eugene again
and we talked for a hour surrounded by the enchanted atmosphere you can breathe
in this city, by the Greek origins of the professor, by that time when at the age of
twenty she met her husband Christian, who was on holiday in Greece and she told
him, “Take me with you and marry me or go away forever.” So they left for the United
States. Since then her trips to Europe have gotten rarer, until ten years ago when
she fell in love with this part of the Balkans. I confessed to her my old passion for
Greece and the fact that my analyst, Sotirios, comes from Thessaly.
When the hour came, as well-organized Americans do, she stood up and said goodbye
as she ran to her morning appointments.
Five minutes later, Lanzo appeared on the terrace with a pleated face of someone
who got acquainted with a foreign country even in the biblical sense. After he had
recovered, we left with our big suitcases to go back to the Moon.
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