this is set at a outside table of a bar in Rome, in a empty square under the sun somewhere near trastevere at the end of spring probably. we are finishing our wine or coffee. this could be a comment on things like this happening to my country. but not necessarily.

-- So Cipriana, are you really a fascist?
-- You bet I am! always had, always will. I have nothing against the non-fascists but this is what I am. Hail the Duce and all the rest.
-- Nothing against the non-fascists! Listen to her. Are we supposed to believe this crap?
-- And you, Elda, are you fascist too?
-- Sure I am... well, no I am not. Sorry Cip but you know. I was fascist but I am not anymore. They told me I have to go with the left because they are running everything and pulling all the threads, you know. They say that in my field it is important. So I reformed. I am with the left now. God save D'Alema and all the rest.
-- Yeah but you do are a fascist Elda, you know that. Until yesterday you had Fini's picture in your room.
-- I saw it, it was next Capossela's.
-- No Cip, I'm telling you, I don't give a shit anymore.

(Cip finishes her cigarette with a hard drag. Puts it out in the glassy ashtray. We admire the gesture in silence, the smoke dissolving in the sun light)

-- So what about you, Corpodibacco, are you a communist or what?
-- No girls I am not. Not a communist.
-- He's an anarchist.
-- No I am not.
-- He's pretending to be superior.
-- I am no nothing, I don't want to define myself like that anymore.
-- uh-uh.
-- So what are you for, Corpo, the comedians?