Years, months and days Spent untangling a thread
From the tangle of your nerves Hung out to dry
Sleepless nights And pillow marks on your face
I lose everything, even my hair And I try to breathe
Where are you going? Where are you? Tell me where you're going
Lock everything under a trapdoor You never know
But where are you going? Where are you going now that
You don't recognise yourself any more
There's someone in the mirror But it's not you any more
I don't recognise you
How many lives do you live in secret?
I don't recognise you any more
MY 2 CENTS
ACCIDENT AND EMERGENCY 24 HOURS
So, the internal bleeding has stopped.
We were lucky to catch it.
They often bring them to us when it's already too late.
We can't guarantee anything
until we've patched him up and see how he is when he wakes up.
But, hey, at least now we can cross our fingers.
They say that when a story reaches its final act,
you just know.
You can feel it in the air.
I don't know if it's true. I thought it was all over 20 years ago,
that August afternoon when finally the great pantomime came to an end.
Doing anything Saturday afternoon? Shall we go to the Warhol exhibition?
I didn't give a shit about Andy Warhol,
but she'd left her boyfriend, and we were back in that window
when I could make a move, before the next thresher showed up.
Before, I'd have said…
Of course. I'm obsessed with Andy Warhol!
I was gonna get that soup can tattooed on me.
And the Marilyn portraits that look like Moira Orfei.
I wanked off so much to them.
I'd have burned everything,
exams, work, doctor's appointments, friends, girls…
Just like always, I'd have burned all the bridges
connecting me to my dignity, to say…
Of course I'm free. Let's go wherever you want!
Instead, I bit my tongue and said…
Um… I think I'm going out with someone on Saturday.
It was one of the hardest things I've said in my whole life.
Worse than when I told my mum I wasn't attending university.
I was just riding the underground
for eight hours like a psycho.
Because it felt like that sentence…
"I'm going out with…"
…signalled the end of something wonderful
that never happened.
But that's exactly why it stayed unrealised.
Pure, like only things that never happen or that last no time at all can be.
That's the problem with us simps.
When people stand us up, don't give a shit,
put us at the bottom of their list of priorities, or lower…
What can I do? I've got Power Pilates!
It's nearly the end-of-year show.
And…
Sorry, love, but Chi l'ha visto is on Wednesday nights.
Mind your tongue!
I know that the priority level of Chi l'ha visto is debatable.
It's every citizen's civic duty!
I get it, but if someone asks you out…
Shut up. They're showing Isotta's last messages.
She went out to buy an iguana
for her 13-year-old lover she met on TikTok,
but she never got to the exotic pet shop.
Anyway, when it's others who piss on us, we're fine with it.
We think, "Oh well, maybe next time."
But when it's us who have to draw the line,
who have to say…
"No, I'm sorry. I can't."
Saying "I can't" is worse than stabbing yourself.
It makes that doubt grow inside you
that it was finally time for us to get together.
It's my fault if it doesn't happen,
and I'll spend the rest of my life regretting it.
But maybe I had a sudden surge of dignity.
Maybe the heat that day short-circuited my simp gland.
But I added…
I mean, I'm going out with a girl.
Boom! You told her! Gimme a "G"! Gimme an "O"!
Go!
What's she gonna say?
What if she freaks out?
She gets jealous,
and you can finally tell her…
"You regret it now, don't you?"
"You missed out. This hunk is off the market."
"He's gone to the local stud farm."
That's great! I'm happy for you. You'll have to tell me about it.
No. She doesn't give a shit.
I'm not sure that she really didn't care.
Gimme a "D"! Gimme a "head"! Dickhead!
Macchiato, please.
She wasn't pulling her hair out.
But it seemed to me that something tiny, imperceptible,
had cracked inside her too.
But I couldn't hear the shards breaking,
because she thought that every awkward silence
always had to be filled
with someone screaming until their vocal cords gave out.
8:00 AM ALARM
NO NOTIFICATIONS
Still standing, you won't beat us
Never!
Why are you doing that?
How should I know?
So that if he stabs me, it won't go in, right?
Pineapple is much better.
What do you mean?
Pineapple skin is harder, and it also stops fire.
If you put it on your arm,
you can stop a blowtorch without getting burned.
I don't think Moody's coming with a blowtorch.
We can go by my house. I've made a suit of armour.
You made yourself a pineapple suit of armour? Why?
What if there's an enemy who controls fire?
-What enemy? -Hey, I'm ready.
Do we have time for a coffee?
There's no need for all of us to go.
Let's try to be sensible. We're not going on a trip.
This all started because of me. You think I'm not coming with you?
I was just saying…
But if you, specifically, weren't gonna come with me,
I'd think you were a piece of shit.
But the others don't need to come.
This is my ex we're talking about. I called Carlo and Emilio.
I'd rather come to make sure they don't do too much damage.
About that, one thing I meant to say.
I won't be shocked to see a few punches.
But I don't want to get caught up in something… erm…
Something what?
I mean, you've got to be convincing, obviously.
But he has to be able to tell the story afterwards, you know?
Who does he have to tell?
In theory!
How the fuck can I say it?
I don't want to be involved in a murder!
Jesus Christ, Zero!
You're meeting at 8:00 am in the square. It was agreed by text message!
When people decide to kill someone,
they take a few more precautions.
So you're saying they'll show up at some point,
maybe before he guts me like a sea bass,
but won't do anything excessive?
Zero, today is mainly a day of big scares
and maybe a little bit of damage.
I'm coming to make sure there's balance between these two things.
I don't know why you're coming either.
What can I say. At least there'll be another woman.
This whole thing already reeks of patriarchy.
We can at least sprinkle some sisterhood on this thing I disagree with.
Okay, I won't ask you anything.
I just hope there's fire so you have to apologise about the pineapple.
Dracarys.
I remember it being a very long walk.
My heart was pounding,
and Armadillo kept repeating
the one nagging doubt I had on my mind.
What if Carlo and Emilio don't show up?
If they don't wake up in time?
You get there and find Moody. What do you do? What if he has a knife?
Please. I'm already anxious.
That's why I put all the magazines here.
Whatever. Not even pineapples would help.
He aims high. He stabs you.
In the throat, the chest. It hurts.
You said it was safer to get stabbed by Moody
because he stabs you reasonably.
But that was before.
Put yourself in his shoes.
You sprayed him in the face, broke his nasal septum.
-You screwed his woman. -I didn't screw anyone!
It's perception that counts.
He even got fired from the family business he worked at.
Poor guy.
I'm not defending him.
But looking at it like that, if he stabs you, what can you say?
I have no strength to argue,
and I focus on the only thing that comforts me.
I'm telling you, it's controversial.
I don't want to die alone.
You might say, "Nobody wants to die alone."
But I don't mean I want my loved ones holding my hand, and all that.
I don't want to be the only one. I want them all to die with me.
HERE LIES ZEROCALCARE
The idea that I die and they keep living,
and a thousand things happen.
They'll see dinosaurs being cloned, an alien invasion,
the guys from La Zanzara begging for money on Celebrity Island.
Everything I've been waiting for all my life,
and I'll be the only one who won't be there.
It's not like they deserve it more than me.
I wish the world would end with me.
When my heart beats for the last time,
a meteorite hits the Earth and wipes out all life.
So we're all even and I won't feel bitter.
But I realise it's a megalomaniacal, selfish thought.
I'm not crazy. I know I can't make demands
on all of humanity.
So I'd settle for my friends dying.
As I was thinking about who had the best chance of dying,
I noticed all these police cars driving by, and I thought,
"What the fuck's going on today?"
Then I saw they were heading towards the square, so I said…
Smeralda, are your brothers done already?
She didn't answer. She started running, and we followed her.
But everything was blocked.
There were people everywhere, and everyone was asking,
"What happened?"
I started to panic because I thought,
"What the fuck did those two do? Did they kill him?"
Or the other way around. He killed them!
They must have showed up all cocky,
and he stabbed them.
Or Secco was right, and he did turn up with a blowtorch.
That's what that burning smell was!
But then I looked up,
and they were there, with expressions that gave me goose bumps.
We locked eyes for just a second,
then Carlo made the international gesture for "Let's get the fuck out of here".
Why? Have they killed him?
They disappeared. I couldn't see Smeralda.
I thought, "Where the fuck is she?"
Maybe she's smarter than us and ran away.
It was the best thing to do!
But no.
Honestly, I don't feel like doing the voices here,
because my blood still freezes when I think back to that moment.
I think he's dead.
Zero, let's go.
Hey, let's go!
Smeralda's over there.
Send her a message. Tell her we're at the café.
We can't leave her…
Jeez, we have to get out of here!
I was half in a trance, so it's hard to say what I was thinking.
-Watch it! -Excuse you!
I was going crazy, and I needed to regain control.
I thought, "I'll put it all back in order."
As if it were an autopsy.
I open my head,
take out every thought and put it on the table.
Okay, let's start.
The first thing is a horrible feeling.
Relief.
I know that's not nice.
He's lying in a pool of blood,
but I can't say I'm sorry.
It's like asking Frodo if he's sad that Sauron died.
What can I say? He'd been trying to kill me for three movies.
Should I cry for him? "Poor guy, he was always so polite."
My precious!
Hey! I won't do a TikTok dance,
but I can't pretend I'm in mourning. Come on!
And then there's fear.
A lot of fear.
Death.
The scariest thing in the world.
Even natural death seems like something far away,
that doesn't belong in our lives.
We almost never take stock of it.
Except when it happens.
But violent death,
being stabbed to death…
That's something you always think is a thousand worlds away from you.
STRANGLED BY HUSBAND
But it's right there, a few metres away.
On that body that still smells like you,
and you smell like him.
You exchanged atoms, molecules, sweat…
Do you think this is a game?
And now he's there, dead,
pierced by a piece of sharp iron
that ripped him open several times.
Then there's a feeling I'm ashamed of.
I don't want to name it.
It's what I felt when I saw Smeralda in despair.
A tiny part of me thought…
Why the fuck are you crying?
You kept saying he beat you, that he was a piece of shit.
Now you're crying as if Derek from Grey's Anatomy died.
For fuck's sake. Come on!
Rationally, I know the answer is that the man who was a monster to me
was a lot of other things to her.
She had seven years with him.
It's understandable that she's upset when she sees him dismembered.
Of course it's understandable, no shit!
Thanks for the masterclass, Jiminy Cricket.
It still pisses me off that she's crying for that bag of piss.
Is that okay, or do I need your permission?
Hey, idiot, you want a soft drink?
Guys, I don't even know if it really happened.
I think it did. It's already in the Rome news.
What about Smeralda?
I've been calling, but she's not answering.
I still don't understand how you can all be so calm.
I think it was the right thing.
How was it the right thing?
A person died, you know. Even in terms of consequences…
He was gonna die sooner or later. There's no point in putting things off.
I wasn't in the mood to investigate
where Secco's reasoning about life and death could lead.
And I didn't have time to ask because I heard the bell…
We're closed!
Calm down! What do you mean, "closed"?
My love! I thought you weren't reading my messages!
My love!
A lot has happened.
It wasn't me, but Moody's dead.
I swear I wasn't involved.
The Tartallegras don't want the money!
I don't know what happened.
Darling, wait. Stop.
Sorry. I thought I wouldn't see you again.
What do you mean, they killed Moody?
Who did it?
-Wait, isn't that… -Stop talking.
He's still holding the knife.
They're stopping people. We have to go!
Here is closed.
I'm still so shocked
because I saw who was holding the knife.
I mean, I saw, by the actual dictionary definition,
the murderer.
And of all the people I've met in my life,
the last person I would have imagined
wearing the mantle of a murderer
was Lorenzo Montini.
ACCIDENT AND EMERGENCY 24 HOURS
Can I wait here?
You can wait in the waiting room, but I can't let you in.
Why don't you go home to rest?
We'll call you if he wakes up.
What's the little one's name?
Giulio.
His name is Giulio.
Think of the fucking abyss we dumped him in
to make him do this.
We were all trying to solve Wild Boar's shit first,
then my shit,
and meanwhile he was there in front of us,
slipping further and further into hell,
and it was like we couldn't see him.
And in the end, he became hell.
But why did Montini do it?
Did you hear what I said?
The debt with the Tartallegras is gone!
My love, debts of that size don't just disappear.
I don't know how it happened. It's like a miracle!
The Virgin Mary performs los milagros.
We do business.
What does he have to do with it?
You really didn't know anything?
About what? I don't understand.
Did you really not wonder,
when the Tartallegras asked the Bengali who had caused all this mess,
why no one thought to ask Carlito for the money,
since he was the middleman?
Actually, I did wonder. I thought they'd talked to him,
but they only cared about where it started.
No.
I mean, yes, but you're missing a piece.
They did go to Carlito.
And they said…
You got our 99K account blocked. You have to give it back to us.
You drive, right?
What did you say?
That yes, I drive, but no soy a limo service.
I only drive Don Diego Coccodritto.
Oh! Finally, a plot twist that makes some sense
of this half-baked Cuban stud!
Good job, screenwriters.
I was wondering why the Coccodrittos had nothing to do with this story!
The Coccodrittos are the Tartallegras' competitors.
They do the same things. Dealing, usury, extortion…
They're a bit more creative
and also have a thing for florists and car dealerships.
But in another part of the city.
They're competitors and not rivals because they're always respectful
and never cross onto each other's turfs.
They're the ones Lemur Friend buys her hash from, for instance.
That's why they didn't give you grief.
They didn't want to start a gang war.
The war was about to start anyway.
Moody was coming here every day, acting all crazy!
He beat up Montini in the street. He made a whole scene.
That attracts the cops, and it's bad for business.
So we had to make a deal that worked for todos.
Honey, what did you do?
I got them to buy the debt.
Huh? What do you mean?
They paid it off and bought our debt.
What does that mean?
I don't owe the Tartallegras, but I owe the Coccodrittos?
Yes. A bit more, but not as urgently.
What did you think? Debts like these don't just vanish.
I love you, you know that, but help me understand.
-What have we gained from this? -A month.
A month of what? What am I supposed to do with a month?
A month is a month.
So, we have an extra month?
I just know that in a month I have to come back aquí.
But if he's with the Coccodrittos,
why did he involve the Bengali who was a Tartallegras frontman?
What's the link between them?
It was all one big Keyser Söze-style setup, right?
They'd foreseen all the moves, like dominoes,
where it ended up with the Coccodritto family buying the debt.
No, their kids go to school together.
Carlito thought Aryan's parents could use €2,000.
I take it all back.
Real life is always so poorly scripted.
Lazy.
Well, at least we gained a month.
We have more time to come up with something, so at least…
Zero…
She didn't say anything, but there was a full stop in those eyes.
One of those full stops that mark the end. No appeals, no recourse.
Full stop. All over.
At first, I thought that full stop was the end of this whole thing.
That I had to accept it. It was over, done.
Only months later did I realise that it was actually the end
of an idea that had been with us for 40 years.
That we can always be like the Goonies.
Staying together. Keeping the gang united.
As long as we're together, we can do anything.
Even take on the world alone.
Let's get this right.
You were having an emo moment,
and I was celebrating us all getting out of there.
Why are they still here? Why?
I don't know. How do I ask them?
Oh my God, what a drag.
Sorry, Sarah. I'm trying to be sensitive here…
-Sensitive, my arse. -Come on!
Are you planning on moving
those little legs of yours towards the door at some point?
Yes, Zero, don't worry!
We're going to my mum's. I already told her. She's happy.
But I have to do something first.
I'll come and get her in 20 minutes.
If you want to tell her anything, this is your last chance.
Bye. Bye-bye.
No, she's crazy. Are you really listening to her?
-I don't get what she meant. -What do you think?
Jump in. He's dead.
It's your turn now!
This isn't the right time.
Of course it's not!
It's never the right time to do this kind of shit!
What does "jump" mean? What is this, Ariccia Bridge?
These are serious matters.
You have to take it slowly. Very slowly!
-Exactly. -Right!
You date, see how it goes,
you don't get carried away by the urge to label things.
Then, slowly, when you've got used to the situation,
after seven or eight years,
if everything's still going well, at that point,
you start to take stock of the situation
and say, "From the outside, it actually looks like we're together."
But it's a snapshot of things. You can't plan it in advance.
-At that point, you're together. -And at that point, you split.
But didn't it just start?
No, it's the seven-year itch.
By then, one of the two is fed up.
What do I say to her?
Go, play dumb. Make some joke.
She said 20 minutes. It'll go by so fast, then she'll fuck off.
Hi.
I don't know what to say in these situations.
"How are you?" seems stupid.
No need to say anything.
It's me who should thank you for the past few days.
They must have been rough for you,
but they showed me a different way.
For the first time, I was living a normal life
with someone who actually cares about me.
I think I got used to living with a pressure cooker
that could explode at any moment.
Yeah, I'm sorry I didn't ask you to stay the other day.
I didn't want to send you away.
I'm no good at this stuff.
It's not that I don't like you. Quite the opposite. But…
Hey, I'm not saying this because I want to move in with you, okay?
The person I was with for seven years was stabbed to death this morning.
I'm not really in the mood to settle down.
She's right.
I keep forgetting he's dead.
I can't get it to stick.
That wasn't why I was saying it.
It was just something nice that you gave me.
It's just that I feel like I should've protected you more,
or done something to make it even,
since you saved me when he was strangling me outside.
Never in my life have I wanted someone to protect me, Zero.
But you liked tough guys who were good at fighting.
Let's not kid ourselves. I could never compete with that.
You're such an idiot!
I liked people who chose me,
who were sure they wanted me.
With you, I always had to do everything.
You never put yourself out there.
The others don't understand
and have to risk making a fool of themselves.
I wanted to say, "Not true."
"I was always ready to change my plans
when you reappeared,"
but then I felt Armadillo
pat me on the shoulder and say…
Shh! They have videos.
Excuse me, I request a break from the questioning!
It doesn't matter, Zero.
This wasn't the right time to talk about it.
How did it go? Did you do what you had to?
Yes, it took me a while because this old man wouldn't leave.
He just stayed there, like he was the guardian of decorum.
That writing always made me a little anxious, to be honest.
It was like a life sentence.
Now I like it better.
PLEASE CAN WE BE LIKE COMETS… …FOREVER?
ROME MOTORWAY
The following days felt suspended in time.
What with the phone records,
Smeralda's brothers
and all the things we said without being careful,
would no one really come and ask us what the fuck we were doing?
But no. No one came.
The legend of Moody, a lifetime of barbarity,
the nightmare of at least three generations of kids,
filed away like a local news article, with the wrong surname.
And crooked writing on the wall.
At first, when I walked past it, it made me angry.
I thought, "Leader, yeah, right!"
"Someone who beat up girls and bullied kids."
But the street names in this city
are full of statesmen and warriors
who dropped bombs on people,
killed families, men, women, children…
No one takes their plaques down.
It would be a bit classist to object only to Moody,
so we kept the writing too.
Eventually, we stopped thinking about it.
It became part of the urban decor.
I know you didn't do it for us.
I don't know if you did it for yourself, or if you had a choice.
But if you're there now,
it's because facts are judged, not intentions.
But there are other facts that are equally important,
even if they weren't discussed at the trial.
Like, if we're here, literally, I mean…
If we can continue our lives,
with our arguments, our anxieties, our laughter,
it's thanks to you.
You're paying for something that allows all of us
to keep living.
And we did nothing to deserve it. Quite the opposite.
We gave you nothing these past years,
and you didn't owe us anything.
Yet you gave us everything.
My grandmother spent her life thanking Saint Lucy,
who she believed saved her when she was dying in childbirth.
"Each of us has a saint in heaven," she always said.
"You must thank them every day that you're alive and healthy."
I never listened to her, but now I think she was right.
It's just that our saint isn't in heaven. Quite the opposite.
He's in the place in this world that most resembles hell.
How is he?
He's well. Better than last time. He's even put on a bit of weight.
Did they give him the letter?
Yes, he was moved by it.
He said he'll write back. You included your address, right?
Yes, it's at the bottom.
Did you give him the photo?
Yes. He thanks you.
That was what worried him the most, you know?
He knows I couldn't keep him on my own.
At least he's all right with you.
Thank you for taking me, even though you're leaving.
No, I have time.
I won't be long. I'll be back in Rome in three days.
Shall we talk then?
Okay. But be careful with all this travelling.
Get some rest now and then.
Bye, Giulio!
-Excuse me, can I ask you something? -Sure.
Why is this dog called Giulio?
It's a strange name for a dog.
Look.
Who does he remind you of?
Oh God, I don't know.
The most handsome politician in Italian history!
I don't know. Rutelli? He used to be hot, but his name wasn't…
Giulio Andreotti!
Prime minister?
Prime minister!
You didn't convince that idiot, did you?
There was no way.
Oh well, he does have a kid.
He can't disappear for days and leave him with that poor woman.
Yeah, exactly.
Right.
This is the great rational narrative
that we always build around Secco
to justify his behaviour.
He doesn't go on about having a kid.
It's what we say to make it more acceptable to us.
But actually, I'd also said something else to Secco.
But I didn't want to tell Sarah They were my last words before leaving.
I thought, "We're 40 years old."
"Maybe it's time we talked openly like two mature people."
So I said it.
You're a piece of shit! This kid has ruined everything.
We can't do anything together any more. You basically killed our duo.
His answer was just as mature.
What do you want?
You started it, with the comic book thing and Netflix.
You're the one who killed it.
Me having a kid hasn't changed anything!
He didn't say it with a tone of resentment or sadness.
It was Secco's standard metallic tone.
But for a second it opened up this tiny crack,
and through it, I saw the last few years.
All the stuff I got tangled up in because of work.
Good and bad.
And I realised that Secco was practically never there.
None of my old friends were there.
Because I didn't find the time or the space to keep them in my life.
Or maybe this is my great rational narrative.
The one I built to justify my behaviour.
And I also wondered,
"What was Secco doing when he was living outside of our friendship?"
And even if the answer was obviously,
"He played poker",
"He must have got laid too, if he had a kid",
I glimpsed that there was something terrible
behind all these thoughts
that threatened to sweep away
my entire great justificatory system.
When you see those clouds, stop.
Dissect, deepen, introspect.
Because those clouds reveal something about yourself.
That's how you grow.
When you can look your demons in the face
and talk about them with others.
So I plucked up the courage and…
Oh, fuck off!
Well done.
Blow me!
You and your mum.
In all this, you still haven't told me how the fuck you are.
I'm fine.
But living with my mum's not easy.
We're always this close to being on the news.
But you stood firm with Stella.
You know I lost €50?
I bet that you'd be back together within a week.
I also lost out. I bet too.
Well, it's been six months. You've broken the spell.
I haven't broken anything, Zero.
I think my problem is in my head.
Six months without a word,
but it's as if a part of me doesn't think we broke up.
As if we're just not talking to each other for a while,
like a break.
But every time something happens to me,
my first thought is that I want to tell her about it.
I think that's normal at first.
Is it normal to have a list in your head
and update it with everything that happens
so when I see her again, I can tell her everything,
so she won't miss anything?
I don't know, but you're doing well not reaching out to her.
Every night, I look at my reflection and say,
"Well done, you didn't cave in today."
Like a junkie.
But that thought is always there.
It's like an app in the background when you're not using it.
And you know what's worse?
No, but this already seems pretty hardcore.
I'm not sure I want to know.
In my head, it all depends on me.
If one day I pick up the phone,
I think she'll be there waiting for me.
Like it's not possible
that Stella got on with her life,
found someone else, is having a baby…
Let's not think about it now.
They'll never let her adopt in this country anyway, so…
Really?
Thank goodness there are fascists to stop my ex from finding happiness.
Can this dog handle such a long journey?
He didn't walk here!
He's pooped, he's eaten,
now he's going to sleep.
He's got his own life.
In 20 metres, your destination will be on the left.
Hey, send Secco a photo!
Hold on, I'm doing a video.
You piece of shit. You could've come!
Yeah, like fuck will he move his arse.
Darling, do me a favour. Can you get me another beer?
How's it going? No one's come looking for you, right?
Every morning I think today's the day they'll come,
and every night I think we're lucky they didn't come.
It might be better if they did, because living like this…
I'm recording you so when they come, I'll play it back to you.
Can you make room while you rip his nails out?
I have a recording I'd like him to listen to.
…better if they did.
Enough with this story. What about you and Smeralda?
-What about Smeralda? -Oh, come on!
A guy went to prison so you could get laid,
and you're wasting it!
Oh, fuck off.
Are you serious? You haven't seen her again?
Debora is lost.
Her grandfather Ugo is waiting for her in front of Joe Spit's.
Giulio!
Jeez! Stop being a pain in the arse with other dogs!
Oh, you have a dog now?
The apocalypse is here!
Hey! You idiot!
Giulio! Stop it!
Schiocco! Stop!
Poor thing. What did he do to deserve being your dog?
Maybe he was Priebke in a past life!
-Who? -Priebke! The Nazi.
The Ardeatine massacre.
It's unlike you to miss such commie basics!
I can't hear you. This thing is barking.
How are you?
-Good! -Damn you.
Come on. Don't be mean to him. He'll calm down!
No, I meant damn you!
Why did you say "good"? That's arrogant. Can't you hear it?
Maybe I'm not doing well, and you flaunt your endorphins.
Are you not doing well?
I don't know. I was just saying.
Then take these endorphins, and don't be a pain.
Maybe he's barking to be more like you.
He's saying, "Look, Dad. I can be a pain in the arse too."
What do you mean, "Dad"? Ew, gross!
Hey, enough. I think he stopped.
Should we try again?
Giulio!
Giulio, come here!
Hey, Schiocco! Stop!
-It's no good. -They hate each other!
We either let them fight or we leave.
Why don't you take them to the park instead of the shops?
What the fuck do you want?
Why not take your kid to the park? He looks like Buddha!
-See how nice it is? -Yeah!
Why don't we meet without the dogs?
What's the point of saying we'll meet up if we never do?
Hey, this time we will, I promise.
Oh, promises, promises.
Hey, I said I promise!
You'll see. You'll be amazed.
Dad, can you read me this book?
Son, Daddy's talking about something important.
As soon as Uncle Zero tells us if he got laid, I'll be right there.
What are you reading him?
The same book every night.
They say it's normal, but how can it be normal
to want to hear the same story
with the same words every day?
It's the Ludovico technique!
Either you have a cognitive problem or you're a maniac!
Here, you read it to him. Be the uncle for once.
The Three Little Pigs. Are you crazy?
It's like teaching kids how to speculate with real estate.
Do you know it?
Yeah, but it sucks.
The smart pig is in cahoots with the wolf.
Think about it. The two hippies lived in straw and wood huts,
then the wolf destroys their homes,
and they have to go to the real estate pig who builds stone houses.
He makes them feel bad for having spent their mother's money,
then sells them a house and goes half with the wolf.
No!
Gimmy builds the stone house because he's cautious.
Yeah, right. Open your eyes. Wake up!
In the Grimm brothers' version, his name is Gimmy Caltagirone.
He throws an old man with a balloon house out on the street.
Did you come to live here
because the wolf destroyed your house like he did with ours?
Did you tell him this is your story?
It's Christine.
She loves stories with pigs.
She says they're underrepresented.
It's hard when the only role models you have
are Peppa Pig and Babe.
And the one from the Muppets.
Shh! Don't mention her, or we'll end up fighting.
Anyway, no. I've just come to visit you here in the middle of nowhere,
but I do have a house.
And is your house made of stone?
I thought, "How would I know?"
"1980s buildings are probably made of concrete."
"Do you want to be a land surveyor?"
But then I understood.
Maybe, to his three-year-old eyes,
we seem like accomplished adults,
like we used to see forty-year-olds when we were kids.
People who must've had stone houses,
because they seemed made of stone too.
Maybe he looks at us,
like the innocent little sausage mostly made of pork he is,
and sees us like this,
unshakable like the Easter Island heads.
Imagine the shock when he sees who we really are.
Scattered after the shipwreck.
We don't even count the ones we lost along the way,
the ones who drowned,
the ones who swam to shore
and then crawled away to hide in the darkest corner of the night
at the edge of the universe.
The houses we live in aren't made of stone,
but they're not straw either.
They're made of all the rubbish we've accumulated over the years.
Rotten wood, sheet metal, leftovers.
The whole mess held together with spit and Xanax.
With unpayable debts,
and promises made and received that no one ever keeps.
And inside, there's us.
Curled up and alone,
praying that the wolf doesn't come
to blow down our door tonight.
Okay, but is your house at least made of wood?
Listen,
don't get hung up on the material. It doesn't matter.
It's more important to live near others.
Then, when the walls shake,
your house can lean on the one next to it.
But there's no one next to us here.
That's not true, kiddo.
We're here now.
And we're here even when you don't see us.
We're just taking a breather, but then we'll fix everything.
Promise?
Hey, I said "promise".
You'll see, you'll be amazed.
Do you know why I can't say shit to you?
Because I'm like that too. I have the same thing.
What do you have too?
She didn't answer, but I know what it was.
It's that thing that stays inside you,
in the pit of your stomach.
Even when you're sure you've scraped it all away.
When you think it can't hurt you any more.
But there it is again, fucking you over.
It kills you a thousand times over in a single lifetime.
The hope that this time is the right one.
ICE CREAM WHEN I'M BACK?
MY 2 CENTS
MUGS
DISHES
Is the café reopening?
Is the guy who ran it back?
New management, sir.
Subtitle translation by: Adam Dean