Dark. It's four in the afternoon and the effects of the sudden storm have nullified the comforts of the technological progress. The neon lights on the ceiling aren't talking anymore and all the computers closed their eyes. Somebody walks out of the office, someone else goes next to the window contemplating the strength of nature. The air is white because of the thick rain and the wind shakes trees, pipes, grass and cement. Thirty-six past four. It has been few minutes since the electricity has come back on and everybody is in front of the computer again; suddenly the sun rips through the last gray clouds enlightening the air. I decide to go back home taking advantage of the air refreshed by the rain and I start going.
Like an acrobat I walk on the small wall on the edge of the road to avoid the mirrors of rain on the asphalt cement that are looking at the sky as they were missing it now that they have plunged at our feet.
I start walking again on the humid asphalt cement to the park that I have to cross to reach home but, suddenly, my legs stop after the order of my eyes that have been kidnapped by the road on my right. On the sides of the street, closed off from the traffic, there are benches of fruit, vegetables, pasta...
A symphony of colors an scents inundates that cement street coloring the air.
I start walking and stopping at every stand that offers different products. I touch apricots, lemons and ribes, I smell watermelon, melons and peppers. I smile.
On a wood table there are little chicken eggs; there are some white and some others brown. Like the magdalenes reminded Marcel Proust of his childhood, so those eggs catapult me in the past, to my country house. I'm ten years old and Carmela puts a warm and little egg, just taken from the fold, in my hands; I give it to grandma who will prepare a zabaione with it while grandpa is coming back from the country handling two white but dusty plastic bags full of apricots.
I get a dozen eggs from the table and pay: 60 euro cent... Amazing.
I cross the park and reach home, I walk up the stairs, 72 steps, I open the door and go to my room. I sit on my bed, take paper and a pen and I write: "Dark. It's four in the afternoon and the effects of the sudden storm have nullified the comforts of the technological progress..."
I tell about my day, that sparkling note in an opaque music; I write up to the moment in which I sit on the bed and quote the first sentence of the story. Some other words, and I conclude with a period.

Adriano

Mi chiamo P3100226, e sono un robot.
Ogni mattina apro gli occhi e mi preparo per la giornata. Esco di casa, cammino per dieci metri e resto in piedi, fermo, aspettando il bus che mi viene a prendere esattamente alle 8.09 ogni giorno. Quando questo apre le porte di fronte a me, salgo e mi siedo allo stesso posto, ogni giorno. Gli altri robot sul bus sono esattamente seduti dove erano seduti ieri, il giorno prima e quello prima ancora: stesso posto, ogni giorno. Il bus si ferma difronte alla fabbrica. Alcuni dei robot sono programmati per fermarsi a comprare una ciambella prima di entrare, ogni giorno; io no, io tiro dritto e mi incammino verso la porta a vetri, ogni giorno. Inserisco il mio tesserino con il codice a barre nella apposita fessura. Sullo schermo appare il mio nome: P3100226.
Il simbolo della compagnia, una rondine in acciaio argentato, e' sempre al suo posto sul muro. Salgo le scale a due a due contando gli scalini per nessuna ragione in particolare: sono trentuno, ogni giorno. Mi siedo sulla mia sedia ed inizio a fissare il computer e ad obbedire agli ordini impartitemi dal mio superiore che, mi é difronte ma comunica con me attraverso il pc. Non parlo con gli altri, siamo stati programmati con diversi linguaggi. Dodici ore. Mi alzo e faccio il percorso inverso fino ad arrivere al bus, il numero 6 che alle stte mi riporta a casa, ogni giorno.
Presto togliero' le batterie e cancellero' il mio numero. Iniziero' a parlare a correre e a leggere in un parco; suonare, cantare, aiutare gli altri, ballare e ad uscire la sera; calciare una palla e lanciarne un'altra nel canestro, sorridere saltare ed amare, e quando qualcuno mi chiedera' chi sono, potro rispondere con fierezza:
Mi chiamo Adriano, e sono un uomo.

Adriano

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My name is P3100226, and I'm a robot.
Every morning I open my eyes and I get ready for the day. I go out, walk for ten meters and I stand, waiting for the bus that picks me up exactley at 8.09 every day. When it opens the doors in front of me, I jump on and sit at the same seat, every day. The other robots on the bus are sitting in the same seats of yesterday, the day before and the day before again: same seat, everyday. The bus stops in front of the factory. Some of the robots are programmed to buy a bagel before entering, every day. I'm not, I walk straight to the glass door, every day. I insert my card with the barcode in the machine. The screen shows a number: P3100226.
The company's logo, a silver colored iron dove is always at its place on the wall. I walk up on the satairs, two steps per time, counting them without a specific reason: there are thirtyone, everyday. I sit on my chair, I start staring at the computer and to obey to the  orders from my boss who is in front of me but comunicates via pc. I don't talk with the others, we have been programmed with different languages.. Twelve hours. I stand up and I walk back to the bus, the number 6, that takes me home at seven, every day.
Soon I will unplug myself, delete the number. I'll start to talk, run and read in a park; I'll start to play, sing, help the others and go out at night; I'll kick a ball and throw another one in a basket, I'll smile, dance and love, and when somebody will ask me who I am I'll finally answer:
My name is Adriano, and I'm a man.

Adriano

I stand up and take the dirty dishes in th kitchen. Skratching my back with a hand, I walk through the long hallway to the living room and i sit on the couch covered by the purple-velvet sheet. Hot, too hot.

Liviu (Romania), sleepy, took the fan in his room, because here, at night, you cannot even breath. Out on the balcony it will be cooler. Surya (India) is already sitting there, with his feet on the railing, talking with Juan (Mexico). We all start talking about turkish reality; soon we feel the necessity to take a sit. Juan, talking on the phone, takes a chair for me, one fore Grace (U.S.A.) and one for himself. The conversation flips to the disquieting seas of the organized criminality; I talk about Sicilian mafia and about camorra, Surya talks about african mafia, because he grew up in "Mother Africa", and about Indian criminality, Juan tells his experiences and so Grace does.

We talk, share and listen. Everybody from a different country but everybody from the same world: a world without strangers.

Adriano

 

 

Il proprietario di un pony locale attraversa un fiume per cercare clienti che sono in viaggio verso il tempio di Amarnath, a 105 km a nord est di Srinagar (India). Più di 500 mila indiani andranno nei prossimi giorni a visitare il famoso tempio indù, una stalagmite ghiacciata che per i devoti è una incarnazione del Dio Shiva

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The owner of a local pony crosses a river looking for clients who are traveling to the temple of Amarnath, 105km north east from Srinagar (India). In the next few days more than 500 thousand indians will visit the famouse indu' temple, a frozen stalagmit that for the true believers is a reincarnation of the God Shiva

(click on the thumbnail below to see the picture in full size mode)