NyLon - CHAPTER 2 Hands in pockets and his head laid back, taking a lazy walk along the Hudson rippled by a breeze ruffling his flowing raven hair, Mauro breathed deeply the air thick of electrons in the first weak light of dawn on the Big Apple’s horizon, estimating his love life a year after he got there. It was 4am on an August Saturday of a year dominated by beautiful Natasha, with whom he had experienced the most intense love story of his life but had to split in order to save both lives: the relation of the Russian high diplomat at the UN with the investigative journalist linked to the annoying Italian radicals was not appreciated by the muscovite oligarchies, as the pervasive as well as persuasive Russian mafia in the city kindly let them know. The devastation at the end of the relation with Natasha couldn’t be nothing but equally deep than elevated had been their passion, and in the vain attempt to overcome the depression he gave himself without conviction to an Upper East Side native bird. Beautiful, tall, sexy, an evening Liza was dead drunk he took advantage offering himself to go to her place to translate some dull Italian pop songs, only to find out she was frigid like one of those refrigerators which made the fortune of candid Hindu-orobic tycoon John Patel, although this latter has nothing to deal with all this for the time being. She seemed very sweet: after that night no more than three hours barely elapsed without a phone call, a text message, a mail, a wishing card with chocolates, candies, flowers, an allusive cactus. For weeks they shared breakfast, lunch, supper, the respective sofas and every free moment, as if their bodies rolled up into one in one of those washing machines which made the fortune of candid Hindu-orobic tycoon John Patel, although this latter has nothing to deal with all this for the time being. The whirlwind consumed itself quickly and she slowly began to take back time for herself: gym, jogging, hairdressing salon, shopping, tanning, manicure, chiropodist, brazilian, and getting out to drink and smoke with her friends. The fact that these were named Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda and Samantha should have made him suspicious. She dumped him via email. Suddenly she no longer wanted to see him. Until the day before they were talking about introducing him to her parents upstate and planned a romantic trip to Italy: Rome, Florence, Venice, the lakes… The day after she won’t stand him anymore.

- You are way too much for me, I feel suffocating, it’s better to split

- Fine, I respect your choice, but why?

- I’ll tell you the truth, I’m in love with someone else

Ah!, the usual Upper East Side sport: double dating, overbooking… And that poor cuckold, what had he done for a month?, philosophized Mauro sarcastically, since having been dumped by Liza didn’t hurt a bit in comparison to the suffering for having lost the Siberian tiger Natasha. He only had fun for one month, without falling in love, and now was happy again, more than he had ever been, while returning home with easy gait along the river under the lampposts switching off at the increasing daylight, the smiling dustmen returning his resonant whistling of the enlivened jazz themes he had been listening all night long at Vito’s on Broadway, and the only thing disturbing him a little were his ears buzzing, a vague feeling of annoyance that he could have felt if, for example, some failed writer plagiarized one of his articles for the NY Observer, perhaps that one about Liza. But even so he couldn’t care less, for walking vertically towards that pink-blue ceiling of Manhattan, since thirty-six hours Mauro had fallen in love again like never before.