I drive back and forth the S.S. 652 since years.
The S.S. 652 is the Fondo Valle Sangro motorway, one of the worst infrastructures that Abruzzese people still pay to the ancient vices of Italian politics. I’ve been driving it for years but every time I arrive to Bomba, I can not help turning my head towards one of the most violent and dramatic slashes to the Sangro river territory: an interrupted viaduct, concrete skeleton that no one has ever had the courage to cut down to give back to that open space of hills, clouds and sky chasing the sun westward, towards Torricella Peligna, John Fante’s hometown, its dignity.
In some another day I decided to give myself the time to stop and climb the monster: I really wanted to watch it as it is, from inside, trying to understand how and why, but no obvious answer came to my ear. And I chose to leave it behind me once again, to go – me, from the mountain – to breathe a bit ‘of the open sea.