SAN SIRO

Alessandro Busci describes that he was struck by San Siro’s stadium, not during the day, still less on a Sunday, when that body animates, besieged by a crowd clamouring and swarming, but at night: in a drizzling, winter night, when water softens the outline of things, blurs details and creates unknown perspectives and reflections off puddles; the yellow gleam of the lights refracts into a sulphurous halo and silence, becoming even more incongruous, in a place which we’re used to thinking as an invading sound of loud voices and shouts.