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June 28, 2009
The house stands on top of the hill, windswept, exposed, overlooking the Pianura Padana she says you can see Modena, up to the Apenine, and if you have binoculars and the day is really clear the bell-tower in Piazza San Marco. Blond, tanned red, with the toothy English smile, she's surrounded by thin horses, nervous dogs, shabby ponies, her small house decorated with modern, soulless objects, bizzarre posters of puppies. The place breathes an air of sadness, desolation, withdrawal, negation, can't find anything positive to grab on to, only our saddled horses prancing about promise we'll be leaving soon.