1It was 1983 and I was six years old, riding between my father and brother in my father's Oldsmobile, back when front seats stretched from door to door. My father drove, and my brother, who was ... [+]
The bell rang. Enzo gave his parents a quick hug and ran to take his place in the line. There was no doubt that this was going to be the best day of his life: at last he was going to secondary school and, what was far better, to the Leonardi School of Dramatic Art. What Enzo had always dreamed of. His teacher, a man about thirty years old, came up to the line and motioned to the pupils to follow him. Soon the first years stopped in front of a large door, similar to the doors in cinema studios with the same red light and the illuminated "On Stage" sign. When both lights went out, they entered.