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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.

The evening begins on a smooth and tranquil tone, you are having an intimate talk with Zen, your red headed friend from university. But when your friend is gone, you are suddenly wild and untamed and everything seems to happen at a faster pace: you are walking around with some people you have just met, admiring the pink, terracotta, and ocher buildings, the wooden tables and chairs on the pavements, the appealing windows of wine bars, people chatting, meeting, cheering on every corner of the streets. And then you are moving aimlessly, almost floating in dark and smoky clubs, tiny converted garages, you welcome the friendly darkness, and the drinks that keep coming and quickly disappearing in your stomach. You are dancing on a black and dirty platform by now.

And then you abruptly find yourself in the same exact surroundings but it is early in the morning: it is amazing how a neighbourhood can change in just a few hours. It is Sunday morning, a frugal family atmosphere, old people going to mass, mums yawning with babies in the strollers. You are drinking a cappuccino at a bar, the TV is on, the waitress is tying her apron, she has just started her morning shift. You hear a voice “Did you have fun, my dear?” It’s Tequila talking to you: it has a very distinctive voice.

And now you know what it means to experience a tequila sunrise, staring slowly cross the sky. You have done your first hit and run: you have slipped out of the apartment of some stranger, whose face you are already forgetting. While you quickly pay for your breakfast you almost beg the lady to tell you where the nearest stop is: all you want is to get on a bus, a tram or any kind of transportation that will take you the hell out of Pigneto as fast as possible.