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‘Would you write my story?’
Lessons from the road
I met Omar on a cloudy April day, at the central station of Verona, Italy. I was hiking to a small village, Boscochiesanuova, in the Lessinia mountains. I had a one hour break waiting for an extra-urban bus to take me three kilometers closer to the offroad path in the woods.
Omar was sitting on a bench, his gaze facing up. I pointed to the space next to him. He nodded that it’s free for me to take. As soon as I sat down, I took the phone out of my pocket and began studying my route for that day. A few texts to my husband and a cigarette later, I placed the phone back, and followed Omar’s example, looking up, beyond the cloudy sky. He turned to me and smiled. I smiled back.
“Where do you come from?” he finally asked timidly.
“Florence. You?”
“I live in a nearby village, but am here for the day.”
“Why are you here for?”
“I have to renew my documents. They said I was late. I came yesterday as well. The office was closed. I guess I will come back tomorrow as well.”
“Why were you late?” I raised my eyebrow playfully.
He laughed. “I have to take a bus here.”
“Oh,” I pretended to understand and began studying the big square. The grey…