The whiz kid

The whiz kid. No, it is not me.

Well drunk,

You will find out in due time, if you are quick-witted and pay attention, as this story unfolds backwards.

Yes, you’ve heard it right; this is going to be a backwards article.

Lunch break. A blessed one.

A Village near the Cinque Terre. Liguria, Bonassola.

First days of March and first beautiful sun. I leave my jacket in the car. Shirt sleeves rolled up like a carpenter. But who cares?

"Damn cool! I love it!".

I need a break for at least an hour. A few scattered tables and chairs by the sea at a charming place that is almost completely empty. I chose the best spot and sit down. It doesn't matter what kind of place this is. I like it, there’s something about it. Good vibes indeed. With the sun kissing my face. So soothing, so warm. A young boy comes to greet me and introduces himself as the owner of the bar. He gets me somehow and suggests a mixed fried paranza – small fresh fish – that is cooked directly on the fishing boat, and points out at a moored one not far away.

Where am I?

Is this a dream?

Is this a corner of paradise?

I passionately accept his suggestion and ask for a glass of white, a good one, you know what I mean. He nods as he knows his business, and I know he knows me too. Anticipation, and I let myself be served. The steaming paper wrap arrives, and my glass of wine