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Posted on January 14, 2014 by Flan

What the hell has happened all these months? You were deleting files from the download folder when you bumped into an old video he had taken of you. It was the first week, maybe the second, you were rolling on his bed, trying to hold on to the covers that he was stealing off you. You looked like a girl in love for the first time, the eyes shimmering in delight, the happy and cheeky laughter.

It could have been great. But it wasn’t. And it’s not possible to get back to that promising beginning when you were going on via Flaminia the wrong way to get some Chinese take way, laughing like crazy, two overjoyed aged teenagers on a scooter. Nothing left to be done but same old same old, you try to relive the most memorable episodes with other men: you went back to the Chinese take away with Tom, to the little restaurant with Dick, and for a bike ride in Trastevere with Harry. You tried to see what would happen if you didn’t stay the night or if you stayed even if you didn’t want to. Nothing major happened. Nothing significant or noteworthy, nor extraordinary. A sudden handing of the baton from one lover to the other. In the meantime you keep making mistakes, but you feel you’re actually learning from them. For example, you stopped thinking there is a successful way to find definite love. You have embraced the unplanned and savage way of living of the urban poets, you just perform according to instinct, you listen to your legs, when and where they want to go to. Your ravening and yet tender black eyes guide you.

You have a perfect relationship this time, not with somebody but with your phone. Why not? It gives you so much pleasure and it’s there for you all the time. For example, it has just delivered you some sweet words in the shape of a text from some guy: “Last night I dreamt that I was smelling your hair.”



Posted on April 23, 2013 by Flan

“Of course he is distant, he is 150 km away, across the open sea somewhere in Tuscany.” It is how your friend Bee replies at you complaining about Mr Perfect. And so damn distant seems the time when you would be coming home from his apartment hopping. You remember one saturday morning in particular, two men jogging towards you, one winked and said to the other, loud enough for you to hear: “Look at the smile on this one, she is coming back home all satisfied!” And yes, you were satisfied, his body was still looking for you a couple of times a week, in an uncomplicated and lighthearted way. Now everything has shifted in exactly what you were trying to avoid: the feeling of being in a relationship without the comfort feeling of having a boyfriend. And your last encounter has been the most elucidating. Before falling asleep, you crawl practically under his armpit and say: “We haven’t seen each other for more than a week, tell me something nice”. Continue Reading →


Posted on March 26, 2013 by Flan

“You want a child?!” Miele’s voice is drowned out by the screeching of her own bike’s breaks as she abruptly stops right in the middle of the bridge. “Come on, keep going. No, I didn’t mean…”, you try to reply defensively. “I was… I was just suggesting that it would be nice to have a child with Pietro.” You too are on a bike: you finally bought one to add a bit of speed to your daily wanders in Rome. It might be spring’s fault and the consequent bouts of hormones, or you might really be falling in love this time. Crazy how things change: a couple of weeks ago you were hastily running  out of his apartment while now you cannot stop thinking about the minute you will cross that same doorstep in the opposite direction – to enter his perfect apartment. Your deep longing for his place has been reinforced by the fact that he has stopped taking you out altogether and you only see each other in his apartment. “Aren’t things proceeding a bit awkwardly? You already behave like a married couple.” Miele adds while she is happily skidding on the white granite surface of the riverbanks. But then she decides to stop, turn and say: “You realize you are not in love with this guy, don’t you?” You sigh. Of course, you do. After all, you are the same one who ran away from his apartment once and told him twice that you should stop seeing each other. You just keep going back to him for that feeling you get after a couple of days: it’s like you can’t breath if you don’t see his muscular and toned body. Now you know how most men feel, the ones obsessed with breasts, and why they keep dating hideous or dumb girls simply for their huge rack. It is almost impossible to say goodbye to his perfect body, even if his cold and heartless attitude often gives you the shivers. And while you’re still sighing at these very complicated thoughts you get a message from him: “Stuck in traffic. Won’t be back for dinner. Call you tomorrow.” You sigh even more deeply this time. No need to decide anything today, nor tomorrow. “Let’s keep moving”, you shout while you cycle as fast as you can admiring the shimmering waters around the Tiber Island. It’s almost dark, the only way to beat time is to keep moving. A cute guy is cycling by you, you try to keep up with his speed, but soon enough you are left behind. Miele runs fast and catches him, they exchange a couple of lines then he is off, faster than the two of you put together. Miele shrugs and whistles while she waits for you to catch up with her. Don’t be fooled, you say to yourself, it’s not who runs after whom that matters. What really matters in love is speed.


Posted on February 25, 2013 by Flan

There are some, probably just a few. Around the city, working and living near you. They are not hiding but it is not that easy to meet them. They are healthy, athletic, even talkative, have a good sense of humor, stylish and impeccable apartments, often a cat, some plants, a car, a motorbike, a bicycle, no exes, they are just full of friends, often female friends, and they simply enjoy their single life – in other words, they live alone and don’t want to change their status. They are perfect men. But alas, they are not perfect boyfriends.

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Posted on January 30, 2013 by Flan

It took you 22 days to end it. A preposterous thing if you consider the fact that the story itself consisted in barely a couple of encounters and a weekend away. But it is not merely your fault: ending relationships in virtual times is not that simple because one text always leads to another. You and your friends Miele and Bee are lyingon Yuki’s unmade double bed located in her living room. What you love about Yuki’s place is that it always feels like being right in the middle of a jumbo sale, old pieces of furniture scattered around, books lying on the floor, clothes hanging from the wall. What happens in a meeting like this is that you are normally scolded for having ended it screaming at yet another guy in the middle of the Continue Reading →


Posted on November 26, 2012 by Flan

“What happened yesterday? I tried to call you but your phone was switched off all day.” You are lying on a massage bed, Miele is above you. She has decided she is going to take care of your face, she is massaging it, putting lotions, pulling out impurities, the whole deal. Her face looks upside down, eyelids for eye bottoms, the chin replacing the forehead. It reminds you of those afternoons from your teenage years, talking about boys while looking at each other upside down to catch a glimpse of monstrosity in your closest friend’s face. “I am not good at restraining myself, so I turned off the phone altogether. You see, we are already at the what-are-you-eating-for-lunch stage and we’ve spent only one night together. I need to take the right perspective. Because the real problem is that I am actually enjoying this, the sharing of pictures at the bus stop while you are waiting for the bus, of tomatoes at the supermarket, of the cappuccino you are having in the bar in the morning”. Continue Reading →


Posted on November 19, 2012 by Flan

This happened last Saturday. Your phone was ringing. “Can’t talk now. On train. Will explain later,” you said hastily to Miele and then hung up. You were dizzy and trying to find balance, between the emotional tornado that had invested you in the previous two days and the fast and abrupt jerks of the Frecciarossa. Then you started texting her a thousand words a minute in order to tell her the tale of epic proportions, all the sordid details, the romantic expectations: You had met someone on line, had been messaging for two days, and had finally decided to meet half way. After having packed all the essentials in your bag – phone, charger, toothbrush, condoms, book – you were now heading to Florence to meet yet again another stranger. Now that a week has passed you can undoubtedly declare that you too have been hit by the new trend: falling virtually in love. Continue Reading →


Posted on November 6, 2012 by Flan

And when Monday comes, don’t forget to slip your sunglasses back on. Unlike Friday or Saturday, Sunday is a day for dreaming. Friday and Saturday are game nights: you meet your friends to play the eternal game of rewriting your personal histories by overlapping old faces with new ones. Time to meet people fast, mix up, chat, flirt, get drunk, randomly kiss each other and roll confusedly in some stranger’s bed. Sunday is a day of relaxation and meditation but since you are still imbued in alcohol fumes, you are swept away by a mix of fresh feelings collapsing with memories that have definitely passed their expiry date. That’s why you quickly rush yourself into distraction, text your friends, make unnecessary calls, write to that loyal old friend you always forget to reply to, you even waste time checking plots of new TV series you know you will never watch. And you are so committed to get as far as possible from those impending emotions, provoked by the tingling of your revived senses, that you fall in the today-everything-is-possible mood and clumsily throw yourself in that reassuring space that is the virtual world. Continue Reading →


Posted on October 1, 2012 by Flan

They call it an Indian summer. Almost October and you are still going around Rome wearing a tank top and denim shorts. One of your closest friends decides to take advantage of the amazing weather and organize a casual dinner on her terrace. Just a couple of female friends. The main activity of the evening is the metropolitan version of birdwatching, neighbourwatching. Your friend Bee has an intriguing neighbour living in the ground floor apartment, a handsome photographer. She noticed him at the beginning of the summer, he seemed to be away quite often but when in Rome he would spend almost every night at home alone, reading and smoking in the garden. Bee had the chance to finally introduce herself when a small plant of mint she had just bought happened to fall in the middle of his garden. Accidentally of course, not dropped intentionally, that’s what she kept repeating to him, in her profusion of excuses mixed with uncontrollable giggling. After he had decided that she was probably not an ax murderer but just a cute and naif young female neighbour, he invited her in for coffee, telling her casually but at once that he was seeing someone. Continue Reading →


Posted on July 30, 2012 by Flan

You are on the 117, the electric bus that crosses the historic centre of Rome. You think of that little bus as a ferry floating over the crowds of people with the only purpose of taking you to all those enthralling places you love so much. It has always been like that with you: you have always loved places more than anything. You consider space not just as the drop scene of the action. You believe it often determines and drives the core strings of the plots you see unfolding in front of you. And your specialty is to sit in those places and perfectly blend in. And what you mean with blending in is not exactly a chameleon act, you are the type who likes making entrances and above all memorable exits, slurring and waving kisses and swearing eternal love to the entire male staff.You still haven’t decided where to go. It would probably be wise to limit the entire excitement of the evening to the bus ride through Via del Corso shimmering in the summer heat. After all, you are still recovering from a fracture. It’s been a time of reflection, a break from your nightlife’s expeditions. You broke a bone and you were forced to take a break. And, in the time you were stuck in the house, you have been even called a heartbreaker. Continue Reading →


Posted on June 5, 2012 by Flan

You are not that acquainted with that buzzing area known as il Pigneto. It became the place to be in Rome around 5 years ago when you were doing other things and not going out that often. So nowadays whenever you go there you are hit by that sense of urgency and excitement, for all the things you have missed, all the bars and restaurants, clubs and cultural spots that you still haven’t seen and absolutely need to. You can smell the summer and the elation of drinking outside, while you’re hopping down the pedestrian walk populated with the typical mixed crowd: tough rockers, colourful hippies, lanky hipsters, young couples with sleeping kids on their lap, carelessly chic men and women, girls on heels, flats, pumps, in black or flowery dresses. Continue Reading →


Posted on May 18, 2012 by Flan

“Let’s meet at the Plaza,” that’s what you say to your friend Miele on Sunday. You are not going there of course, you are going somewhere else, where the food is homemade and good, to a typical Roman trattoria, with no velvety wall paper on the walls. You think it’s witty and smart – to meet at the Plaza – one of your little diversions that make you feel like the main character of a seedy adventurous novel. Your friend Miele is cute and sexy, she doesn’t have to pretend like you, she really looks like the character of an erotic comic book. She gets off her bike and walks with you toward the restaurant. “So, what are you up to?” she asks. Nothing much really, but you decide to tell her about your latest fixation, a writer you fancy. The guy doesn’t even know your real name, although you’ve been out on a date. She doesn’t understand. “How can he not know your name?”. Continue Reading →