“The Platinum Collection is for beginners,” she said, smiling. “This is for the real journey.”
That night, he poured a glass of cheap whiskey, slid the first disc into the player, and pressed track one.
She looked up, surprised. “You know Battiato?”
Her name was Elena. She had left Sicily twenty years ago and had never met anyone in this grey city who knew Franco Battiato. She told him that “L’Ombra della Luce” wasn’t just a song, it was a prayer. He told her that he’d been living in a permanent gravity, and that Battiato had taught him to shift his center.
“The Platinum Collection is for beginners,” she said, smiling. “This is for the real journey.”
That night, he poured a glass of cheap whiskey, slid the first disc into the player, and pressed track one.
She looked up, surprised. “You know Battiato?”
Her name was Elena. She had left Sicily twenty years ago and had never met anyone in this grey city who knew Franco Battiato. She told him that “L’Ombra della Luce” wasn’t just a song, it was a prayer. He told her that he’d been living in a permanent gravity, and that Battiato had taught him to shift his center.