When the blacks still weren't and Berlusconi was still selling houses I

 

Ho una chitarra per amica e con voce malandata

Canto e suono la mia libertà.

Se sono triste canto piano, se sono in forma suono forte,

Così affronto la mia sorte.

Se non amo grido abbasso anche se non mi è concesso

Dico sempre quello che mi va.

Se voglio un corpo e un po' d'affetto,

Faccio un giro cerco un letto e una donna che ci sta.

Chi mi vuole prigioniero non lo sa che non c'è muro

Che mi stacchi dalla libertà.

Libertà che ho nelle vene, libertà che mi appartiene,

Libertà che è libertà.

(Franco Califano)

It may have been the times, but he suddenly felt the desire to be with people. He was thirsty for people, for company. Something new had happened inside him. What could it be? 

The blue sky above him? Or was it because he had told them "Will you take me to a land of clouds to work in the fog?"
He had said well. Fucking Lombard people. They didn't respect each other. Braggarts.
Whatever he was, he wanted, if only for a moment, to rest in another world.
He didn't want to leave Genoa and go to Milan.
Don't think, he said, that while it may not be true, it is not true. Do you know how God works? Behind.
What do you mean with “behind”?
I mean behind and beyond what you see. Maybe Jesus really was a liar an impostor. God's hand has pushed us in such a way that today we have the Gospels, the revelation of God. We have the Church. We have Christianity and Catholicism. Maybe everything was forged by men, but in the end, we have it. Do you know? Through this forgery, we have the true word of God in the world. Because that was his will. Or maybe all the story that came down to us is true. Maybe what is written in the Old Testament and in the Gospels is all true. Who knows? Can you dare to say that lies are not the essence of the world? Do you still believe that only truth is the essence of the world?
And the egg-yolk raviolo? Is beyond this too the hand of God?
Why not? I'm sure there is. Each concomitant change reveals different purposes.
I felt an unbridled instinct to create it when I started thinking about how to make this dish. I created that dish like under hypnosis.
They stopped talking. The Abatino had scored a goal. They yelled their joy. They had in background Tutto il Calcio Minuto per Minuto, like every Sunday.

Luigi had come when Nino called him.
It had been that thirst that urged him to call Luigi.
His life was becoming tedious. He didn’t technically would concede, but it was indeed this the reason.
After selling his restaurant his life was no more life. It was boredom. Absolute boredom. Damn boredom. As sang Franco.

How many times he had come to his restaurant to dinner. It was, if he remembered well, when he was in love with Marina. What a beautiful couple! How he loved to cook for them!
Have it! Said Luigi. He had opened a Giacomo Bologna Brachetto d’Acqui bottle. Probably his favourite wine. Luigi was very picky about wines. He was a legend, a fine connoisseur like no other.
Luigi was an anarchist. The best counterbalance to talk about God.