Woke up in London, dreaming the summer Lauper.


Was a sunshine and warm saturday morning of August. I woke up a few minutes but my eyes weren’t open yet, as if they were scared from the light.


My head, line in a comfortable pillow stayed laid and the smell of my fresh linen get in to my nose as a flowers field. I could stay like this for ever.
 In the while I hear from a distance a music, was Cindy Lauper singing “Girls just want to have fun”.
The music was coming from outside the window, from a neighbour.
I didn’t want open my eyes because that song brought me on my teen age about 30 years ago, in a summertime holiday when we was enjoing the 80’s and the jukebox.
When I was 4, my parents bought a second house in a rurales setting situated in the north middlewest of the italian mountains. Here, surrounded by forsest where the breath of fresh air and clear blue sky, we live in a piazza within an outdoor touristic swimming pool and a coffeeshop for the meeting. In that area we knew our best friends which are still in touch even after 30 years.
My head, line in a comfortable pillow, did not allow my eyes to open. Probably I didn’t want see the truth that was on my mind. My young parents in their younger days always smiling and my brother like a pouncy poppet with his dirty-chocolate an ice creamie mouth playing with his frocking friends.
We played volley-ball around the pool with a picturescque green vegetatied mountain. There were lush foliage all around the courtyard. Woow! The fragrant fragrances we smelt everyday with a towering brightly shining sun seeping thrue to flood the unforgettable piazza.
The boys of age were idols which we like copy and follow, they were the masters. They had tricked  motorbikes, wore sunglasses, spoke seriously or laughed about incomprehensible topic, they used to top-up the jukebox and we enjoyed to sing and dance their music hide in the rooftop of the coffeshop.
We were convinced that those times will never end.
Cindy Lauper was at the end, my eyes were opening and glimpse the forniture opposite me, a tear drop down my face. I’m wake up, I’m back to realty. I’m 42, in a busy August of a pollution London.
Those summers never back again.
Martino Serra

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