Читать книгу Clouds Of Smoke… The Story - Gianluigi Ciaramellari - Страница 9

Massimo occasionally went through the street of the Novoli district of Florence in which he lived, by foot or by car, and he marvelled that he had never noticed that shop before. It seemed strange to him that in the year 2015, in the midst of the economic crisis, someone had decided to open a business and, moreover, in an unfrequented suburban area.

It was a warm mid-March afternoon, one of those days that whoever could afford it, didn’t waste by working. Massimo, as a young freelancer, could afford it, however reluctantly, because his work was scarce. Therefore he strolled around casually, but that store drew his attention and he stopped to look at the shop window, discovering that they displayed electronic cigarettes. On the sign it read: "Clouds of smoke - steam cigarettes".

A middle-aged man was sitting behind the counter, absorbed on working on something that glittered. The shop was decorated simply with makeshift furniture, all in all dignified, but not fancy and modern like many other brand stores. It looked more like a tailor’s shop, those of the past, in which the tailor, while he was taking your measurements for a suit, asked you if you had had the measles during your childhood. The lighting of the shop, from the outside, looked as though it wasn’t even fit for a card game, but once inside, you realized that the light was just enough to make you feel at ease.

Later, he discovered that it was the “Light” that he had been searching for his entire life. He decided to go inside, just to get some information.

Therefore, he entered.

He pushed the glass door with some force; he pushed hard because it looked closed, instead it opened and the light that greeted him when he entered was somewhat familiar, he felt as if he was in his room, in the evening, reading a book or playing the guitar.

Within the shop one could smell delicate notes of tobacco mixed with other fragrances; it reminded Massimo of his grandmother baking apple pies, his favourite dessert.

To his left he saw himself reflected in a large antique mirror, which he guessed used to be the door of a wardrobe. In the mirror he saw that the light of the store had flushed his face and made his skin look smooth and glowing, making him look younger than his forty-three years of age.

But before he could feel any gratification, he was caught in a déjà vu. He had already seen himself in that mirror a long time ago, but at that time he had a heavy heart.

They say that these sensations are alterations of our memories. For him, however, it was a subconscious premonition.

The deep, full-bodied voice of the shopkeeper brought him back to reality.

“Hello, welcome to Clouds of smoke!” said the man while standing up, with a big smile.

“Hello, I needed some information… May I? I don’t want… That is, I’m a smoker, and…”

The younger man seemed a little uneasy, but it wasn’t actually an emotion, rather he almost physically felt the shopkeeper’s handshake, although he had only greeted him verbally. He found himself with his hand stretched out and it tingled, as if someone had actually shaken his hand vigorously