Gianpaolo Rossetti - I read the back cover - was born and lives in Milan. He has collaborated with several magazines, lectures on local history and works for a local newspaper with a heading: the Milan unknown.
few weeks ago, when the grip of cold pressed close Corso San Gottardo, I was, as usual, waiting for the 3, incoming calls, wanting to listen to questionable information flowing in red lettering on the platform, from there in 9 minutes. An endless amount of time to pass on his feet, chattering teeth, so to be considered nothing short of inviting the opportunity to move beyond the glass door of the historic Library of the course, at 11 am across the street, coming home from my door. And then I sling, without thinking twice, the shelves filled with books of paper that this store yet, despite the best sellers stacked at the entrance, trying to carve out a semblance of originality.
The minute rush, while I lose myself between the mysterious cover of the new novel by Piperno and go around a mountain of "cooked and eaten." I make one false move and I'm bump against the belly, no doubt well-stocked, a gentleman in their sixties, surrounded by a small crowd of people.
"Excuse me, I start to hum. He reciprocates, kind, with the same word.
It 's almost time: I am going to gain the release and in the distance begin to feel the clatter of the tram. In a hurry, but not enough to not realize that, that face the high forehead framed by a small crown of graying hair, is printed on a billboard at the entrance.
" Gianpaolo Rossetti" presents his new book, Murder at the fair of Porta Genova.
Behold, I have bought than before.
"He made the journey on foot. Newsstands were displayed on the front pages of newspapers which report abnormal cold spell that was raging now, a few days and that the weather gave up, and shuddered Commissioner pressed in the coat moves faster.
Corso San Gottardo 41, scale B. Two courtyards in a house ultrapopolare railing, about 120 families crammed side by side in a promiscuity that leads to shared facilities; swarms of kids chasing each other regardless of the cold shouting up and down the stairs from the steps consumed by the shuffling of innumerable people who have alternated in time, as the waves of a stormy sea. On
railings, well aligned, rows of potted plants with broad, fleshy leaves an ever-verse without flowers, plants numb from the cold, the people of railing called "Frasconi.
The court in Milan bristled, broad, with the drainage of rainwater in the center, old bikes rest against the peeling walls, a few hand-truck with the poles facing upwards and a continuous shouting similar to that of a beehive of women doing domestic work, some to sciorinare role that inevitably would have ice cream, who the cleaning of your home, because although we are ultra small houses, inhabited by simple workers, are required always with great dignity and cleanliness, as is the tradition of the people in Milan. On the ground floor shops and small workshops, which the Milanese dismissed as "Laureri" overlooked the large courtyard from which they emerged unceasingly trance sounds of small and muffled hammering, sometimes the voice of some workers mentioned that the chorus of popular songs.
This appeared to Chief Commissioner De Martino when he entered the wide doorway that leads from the street to the courtyard, but no more vision would see if he had entered another 1,000 yards in Milan in the cold dusk of December. "
Gianpaolo Rossi
Murder on the fourth floor
Page 8
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