The hotel was in an old stony street in the center of Ferrara. It was single starred and that was what I was looking for. Moving from hotel to motel to B&B to hotel during solitary trips in the last years, I ended up elaborating my personal theory, and that is that the higher the ranking of the hotel and the prices of the rooms, the worse is what you get in the end. Weird theory, of which I am not that sure of, and still, it can be verified. Probably this comes to me because I don't care for: TV, personal bathroom, breakfast, room service. And because I never stayed in the same hotel more than two or three nights.

After driving for hours in the Padana praire, strolled the streets of Ferrara for a couple of hours, visited the beloved interiors of the Schifanoia palace, I was very much tired and it was about to rain again and I had slept just a couple of those hours in the car.
The door of the Centro Storico Hotel was closed but lights were on inside. Before ringing the bell I heard from the ground floor window snippets of a conversation between a mother and a kid daughter. They were both laughing at a kid's classmate expenses in a sympathetic way, but it felt completely unrelated with the Hotel business. And what if I was the classmate happening to have a walk outside here I thought. I have of these thoughts.

As I rang, the voice of the mother said, who's ringing now? quite annoyed and so, I tried to look less tired and more smiling. My stomach was aching 'cause I get very emotional when I have to get in touch with my fellow humans in these situations. I am not at ease in the adult world, even though I am a sort of adult person, so my stomach started to cringe and squeeze the void into there, slightly emotional only for this simple task of having to obtain, or risking to have a hard time obtaining, what I needed from some unknown person, and - you know - I can hate how they act behind a reception desk.
She was a nice little young blond mother, looking at me surprised, and after the deal was done and the keys in my hand, she was still looking at me surprised, and smiling me only in bits. Dry brusque blonde.
- Can I pay in advance? So that I.. - You have to. - Oh. Fine, then.

The room was a piece of small rectangular cell worth twenty of my bucks, single bedded, window facing the roofs over the town, mixture of new fake furniture and old residual objects, a table to write, a little lamp, old ceramic sink. I slept in it all afternoon long, voices faded in and out my coscience and finally woke me up around dinner time, too loud voices of Hotel residents, and listening to their phony friendly conversation I realized there where only long-term guests in the hotel. Possibly people from Ferrara and vicinity left without a house. Tourism was probably not going that well then.

What if I was living here too, I thought. They would probably make me a better deal. It could be affordable. I would probably ran into fights with everybody about the noise or the music. I can't stand loud music. I would have affairs with guest ladies acting as Blanche, and quarrels about soccer with the old men. I would be despised behind my back and considered a bum. Could be fun. At the end the dry blonde would fall in love with me and cry as Circe at my departure outside the enchanted ring, towards home.