It’s a hot summer afternoon, spent playing bocce. A stained glass window divides the entrance from the bowling green.
The light is dim, there doesn’t seem to be many people. I approach the area of small tables used for cards. A simple table, you will say, with four chairs, but before this banal object seeps the charm of this place, where the game of cards has its sacred space.
A place that reminds me of summers by the sea in Liguria, where people played bocce to the point of exhaustion and then moved on to briscola tournaments. Summers marked by slow rhythms: one thought about the slope of the ground in order to boccia the opponent's ball.
Ball in the center and off you go. The ball rolls lightly and lightly approaches the little ball as if to gently caress it. You play for pure fun, without thought, without noting the score, without thinking about the passing hours.
The velveteen jacket rests on the armrest of the chair, light creeping through the folds of the fabric and bringing out its impalpable lightness. The chambray shirt has a soft collar, the shirt is chunky in warm colors of sand and earth. The pants are soft, stretch cotton, suitable for movement and throwing bowls.
The barbed blazer is unstructured, light, comfortable. Now the light on the fields is slightly brighter, the side open to the public of the playing fields is occupied by a large group of people. The playing tables are almost all full: the bowling alley is in full swing.
