Prova a prendermi - Try to catch me

"No. This is a whole different story," she says. At first, the tear rolling down to her chin is ambiguous — but the doubt doesn't last long. "Hold me!" The embrace is so tight that something creaks. It's always like this at the end of a story, because it makes sense: everything must come to a close. And the story of Wosh, of the kidnapped girls, and of lovers with too much trouble between them, will end that night. How, we shall find out.

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"Shall we put one more record on the turntable? The last one, I promise! We've stayed up late, but I can feel good vibrations in the air — as though our listeners don't want to go to sleep just yet. There's something magical tonight, don't you think? The smell that announces snowfall is always the same, the one we learned to love as children, and yet every time, believe me, it's as though it were the first. And when it happens, everyone has their own rituals. Some wait for the first flakes outside in the street, to feel them settle on their face. Some fix their gaze on the nearest lamp post, waiting for the cone of light to turn into one of those glass snow globes you shake whenever you want to repeat the miracle. Others simply go down to the courtyard to lift the windscreen wipers. Me? I put on my pyjamas with the little cartoon figures and fall asleep with the idea that tomorrow I'll go for a long walk. And what better way to ease yourself into a good night's sleep than a famous track from a few years back — guitar strings pulled taut, reverb, and that wonderfully vintage atmosphere? Beautiful, isn't it? I'm Lady J., the airwaves are those of Radio Bardo, and she is Nancy Sinatra. Bang Bang."

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