Photo by Guelfo Ajello
Last night we cut through Parco Sempione on our bikes. It wasn't yet 8 but it seemed later, daylights' savings always takes some adjusting for me, the sun was long gone and the nebbia had begun to creep between the trees. The gates of the park are open until 9 but no one ever seems to go in after it gets dark, only a couple of people walking their dogs. We rode down the white muddy path under the dim lights and between the trees and heard music, a saxophone. A lone man was playing jazz beneath the loggia of the old arena, without a hat on the ground and no one to hear him but us. Sad jazz that echoed and ribombava under the Napoleonic arches. I felt I could have been anywhere. He didn't acknowledge us and we passed him by, I never know when to stop, but his music followed us all the way out the gate into the street.