It is loud & messy & warm, and there is no difference between inside and outside.
In the narrow streets you peer through curtains and see families, half-naked, watching TV or cutting onions. Old ladies sit outside on plastic chairs, chatting, a fairy-lit Madonna glittering above their heads.
Almost everything is in ruins. You think a house is ready for death with doors barely held-up by beams when a couple emerges from its depths, enlaced.
You will fantasize about living in that palazzo only to approach and see it hollow like an eaten tooth.
It smells of garbage boiled by heat. But there there is more, for finer noses: cooking, jasmine bushes, the smell of heated bricks. At night it's balmy. The temperature is that of your skin. There is no difference between inside and outisde.
photography by Letizia Battaglia
Almost everything is in ruins. You think a house is ready for death with doors barely held-up by beams when a couple emerges from its depths, enlaced.
You will fantasize about living in that palazzo only to approach and see it hollow like an eaten tooth.
It smells of garbage boiled by heat. But there there is more, for finer noses: cooking, jasmine bushes, the smell of heated bricks. At night it's balmy. The temperature is that of your skin. There is no difference between inside and outisde.
photography by Letizia Battaglia
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