The characters in these stories have different names, ages, jobs, and walks of life, and yet they all suffer from the same melancholic voice, the yearning voice of adolescence that announces itself full of dreams, of aspirations for justice, of the passionate impetus of those who believe they can fix the world and are quickly shattered in the face of a reality that grants neither time nor the space of dreams.
Our thoughts turn to Giovanni Pascoli, who in Fanciullino traces his poetics, a hymn to the fortunate age of childhood, when the world still appears innocent (Caterina Ferraresi).

But the most beautiful image that portrays your most authentic and intact spirit is the one in which I see you again as a boy, in your green eskimo and lambretta, when you used to pick me up from the gym in Via Cherubini, where I went to attend a corrective gymnastics course because of my scoliosis. You were sixteen and I was nine.