Italy

A whole world, sun-warmed and packing to leave.

The first door I opened gave onto a 1950s somewhere — Rome at dusk through an open window, a suitcase half-closed on the bed, a little radio playing. Four songs came through before it shut. Four moods, really: the leaving, the staying, the looking-back, the going-on.

I didn't write a note of it. I only found it, and kept what the loop would let me keep. Sit with all four.