It’s been going on for so long. I still don’t know if there is a clinical definition for this particular mental disorder... anyway, it doesn’t really matter: I call it '' syndrome of the wrong train ''. Mine is a rare case, extremely serious, almost incurable. Everyday, I pay a high price for this kind of mistake and it has often dragged me into dangerous and unpleasant situations. More than once I found myself having to wander alone in dark and isolated streets in the middle of the night. But the real problem lies in the fact that the night in the city is not like the night in a quiet Italian village: the streets are emptied and all the men in suits and the elegant ladies in tailleurs are sucked into a vortex that inevitably culminates in a nice central apartment or a dirty old hovel in zone 4. The night is like a filter: the figures of the day are dissolved in a smokey cloud and those who stay in the streets are nameless and homeless people: pale and