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  • Italian version

    An old lady lazily opens the door on the back of his restaurant. Her childrens help to bring out the tables and benches in a night procession that soon brings to light some sort of dining under the stars. A few dozen yards away an intimidating bomb breaks the silence of the streets of the city, disturbing the sleep of the cats and interrupting the dreams of the humans.
    Three boys are driving in Cerere street, returning from a dinner of southern traditions. The uses, customes, logic and attitudes of the place make them strangers in a strange land.
  • Some ladies overlook the silence-raped street, their faces betray the awareness derived from the blow echoing in their doors. They look at the three guys up the street with a glance full of suspicion and drowsiness. Small groups begin to form, other faces look out from the balconies, kids arrives by bike while a patrol slowly turns the corner.
    Polignano rests still, but it is only an apparent state, it is actually alert, as when one is lying in bed waiting for something, because you have the certainty that something has to happen. Only in this case the body is a whole city and the senses are its citizens. Eyes, mouths, ears that roam the city or resting at home, but always on the qui vive, ready to take action at the first sign of strangeness, an explosion, a scream, a splash.
    The boy climbs the overlooking-sea rock wall, under him a group of four or five guys shout at him from the water, are the 3 in the morning but their naturalness in the swim does not betray the late hour. The climber reaches the top, just below the foundations of the first houses. He sits down. He wait. He wait, how the whole city does, as all of its citizens are accustomed to do. They sit in front of the houses, on the rocks, on the benches. They sit and wait. The right time, a familiar face, the passage of tourists.
    The uses, customs, logic and attitudes not only separates this reality from the other realities near in space but culturally incredibly distant, they shape the conception we have of it, creating a chiaroscuro with soft edges that reveals only part of the various facets of his daily life, giving life - before the eyes of the discerning tourist - to a sort of urban bipolarism.
  • You see the water.
    It's what is underneath that you can not observe.

  • In a square in front of the sea, the bronze figure of Domenico Modugno opens her arms in an eternal embrace of the city, its citizens, the tourists. Like his fellow citizens he wait, observe, listen; dives, barrels, laughters, tears, shots. But that embrace is not denied to anyone, nor to the old dining under the stars, nor to the bombers, nor the boys, nor to divers or tourists. Mister Volare smiles, he always does, taking deep breaths of his city.

    Mentre il mondo pian piano scompare negli occhi tuoi blu. Felice di stare quaggi├╣.
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