Ll'acqua vace ô mare

Things always end up where they’re meant to, and money goes where there’s already money.

Paper boats in the black hole

There’s a fountain in the courtyard of the building where I grew up. As a kid I used to drop paper boats in it and follow them all the way to the drain. Once I made one out of a notebook page and wrote my name on it. It disappeared down the black hole like all the others. For years I believed that somewhere, under the city, there was a place full of paper boats with the names of all the kids in the neighborhood.