The waiter said: ‘Finally I can go back to my country. The paperwork is almost done. Ten years, that’s a long time.’
‘Incredibly long,’ I answered.
He was from the region of Marche in Italy. He mentioned his hometown, ‘a small one,’ he said.
Then he fell silent as usual.
I was reminded of ‘I Vitelloni’ by Fellini.
Vitelloni, young and not so young Italian men, pampered by their mothers, slightly lost in the world, sometimes a bit malicious.