least he's still trying to get his brain in gear, assuming he can find it."
It's more likely that he's walked by without her noticing him, since her attention is entirely focused on the nail art she carefully applies to her nails.
"Alright, thanks, I'm off to the office, but...don't tell me you have a white hair?"
I hold back my laughter and point to an unspecified spot in her thick hair.
"Where? No way!" Hit and miss.
Vanity: the woman's weak spot.
"And yes... I'm sorry, but it's right there. Must be the stress of overwork?"
I leave her to her hysterical search for the non-existent evil one, while she torches her hair, plucking at it like a monkey.
It's ten thirty, I huff and puff and throw my pen on the coffee table. Coffee break. But what happened to Roberto? Do you want to see that last night he came back from the nymphomaniac and she exhausted him so much that he hasn't recovered yet? I kick the vending machine that has swiped my coin twice. It works, the coffee comes out and meanwhile I try to call Roberto.
First ring: free.
Third ring: sooner or later he will answer.
On the fifth ring, the answering machine comes on. Where have you been?
"Beep!”
"Hi Roberto, it's Davide. Where have you been? If you can connect your brain, call me back. I'm at the office working and, many times you don't remember, that's the place you're supposed to be. Bye and call me!"
He has been sick twice already this month. If he has flu or related again and disappears another week leaving me with his paperwork, I swear I'll bring it straight to his door this time.
Seventeen forty, the end of the working day and Roberto still hasn't shown up. Maybe it would be better if I stopped by his place before going home, maybe he needs something.
Oh no, here we go again! Stuck in traffic. Freaking junction! It would take two of them, one on top of the other, not to widen it.
An hour and a half! It took me a damned hour and a half to get to his front door. On the intercom there is a sign: out of order. Luckily the front door is open. I go to the elevator. Another sign: out of order. What is this, a conspiracy? Doesn't anything work in this ruin of a building?
Sixth floor: hurriedly I arrive in front of the door and without any formalities I attach my finger to the bell.
Come on, answer! Don't tell me you made me come all the way here for nothing, or I'll kill you!
I hear some noises, I stop ringing.
I look at the door: still noises in the background.
"Roberto! It's me: Davide. Come on, open up!"
I knock so hard that even a deaf ninety year old could hear me.
Latch sounds. Hallelujah!
When he finally decides to open, I destroy the smile I'd been wearing and replace it with a chilled expression. "What the hell happened to you?"
He looks like he's aged thirty years. His face is gaunt and waxy.
"Ah, it's you. Come...come in."
Even his voice is altered: hoarse and phlegmy. I follow his footsteps, traipsing down the hall.
"My God, how badly you're hurt!"
He doesn't answer, coughs, and lets his weight drop onto the couch. I sit in the chair across from him and look at him worriedly.
"Did you call the doctor? You look like hell!"
And I'm a big optimist.
"No, I haven't had time yet..."
"What? I'm sorry, but then what have you been doing all day?"
Turning his head, he looks at an undefined point outside the window.
"I've been sleeping and maybe... dreaming."
"No, wait, I left you yesterday morning spewing energy everywhere with the story of that and then you disappear. When I find you again you sound like my grandfather and you're rambling like crazy! Let me hear if you have a fever."
I quickly bring my hand up to his forehead, he tries to fight back scared, but can't. His hands are freezing cold and his forehead is as hot as an iron.
"You're hot! But did you fall into the oven? That's it, I'm calling the doctor!"
"No! I can't go to the hospital! She promised me that tonight..."
Complaining, he struggles. I ignore him and pick up the phone. I dial the number.
"Oh yeah? Then I guess that means we'll put a nice sign on the door to match everyone else...hello, is this the doctor's office?"
Within ten minutes the ambulance arrives. To calm him down, the doctors are forced to administer a sedative and load him with the stretcher into the ambulance car.
Heralded by the roar of the engine, a motorcycle pulls up alongside. On it, straddling it, is a guy dressed in black leather who is watching us carefully. He realizes I've noticed him. He takes off his helmet and when he shows off a long black hair, I notice amazed that it is not a he but a she. Damn, she's very beautiful too! Could she be Roberto's mysterious lover? But if it's her, why doesn't she run worriedly to the ambulance?
She gives me an enquiring look, then quickly fastens her helmet, starts the engine and with a deafening noise disappears into the horizon.
The ambulance sirens bring me back to reality. I rush to my car and follow her to the hospital.
The bench in the waiting room is uncomfortable and cold: whatever, I don't have to sleep on it.
A doctor approaches, quickly peeks at a clipboard and calls me by name.
"Yes, it's me! How is Roberto Capua?"
"Well, undoubtedly better, but how did he get like this? When I saw his papers I didn't want to believe his date of birth."
"I assure you, doctor, that until a few days ago he was in excellent shape. I was amazed, too, when I found him in that state. But what exactly is wrong with him?"
He is puzzled. Perhaps more than I am.
"It is difficult to say. We noted considerable blood loss, as if he had suffered a severe arterial bleed, but we found no evidence to confirm it: general absence of wounds on the body, lack of bloodstains on the clothing. Also, from what you stated at intake, you didn't notice any bloodshed in the environment where he was found."
"I confirm that, the house was clean."
Secular dust excluded.
"In any case, since there is no runoff in progress, the leak is a secondary problem that doesn't involve
