" That night I had the wind turbines, as it happens, unexpectedly below the skin and nostrils remote a joy, a secret memories of those naked as our bodies, we would say that they are ingrained from childhood. The beach where I was born was peopled with swimmers in summer and baked in the sun. They were three, four months of a life always unexpected and different, restless, rough, like a trip or a move. The houses and streets were crowded with children, families, half-naked women to the point that they didn't look like women and were called the bathers. The two guys had names like mine. I made friends and took them by boat, or running away with them in the vineyards. The boys wanted to be bathers of the marina from morning to night…"
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