Eugene Ionesco: The fact of being inhabited by an incomprehensible nostalgia would be, after all, the indication that there is an afterlife. Distracted walking down a street crammed with merchandise, some trash and many, many people, when suddenly I felt a pat on the back, given by someone who wanted my attention. I thought it was a normal friction that often occur when we walk through the crowd and went back to dive into my thoughts when suddenly I felt again the same clap. Sure, now, that there was an accidental brush I looked back and was, with a huge smile the man whose image I immediately transported to the past, a past blurred and lost in some corner of the old times. Remember me? Those were his words. In his dark face and crossed by the marks of time had a big smile and generous as the good people and unprepared. Something told me it was a person close to the pleasant times of childhood and began to record section of my memory where are stored the events of those days when he wore shorts and where the world was the extension of a football field and as we were taught in school, was round, but much rounder than the ball of rags we did with the old socks to spend all afternoon making goals for joy. Actually I do not have a memory and often neglect insider details that no one should ignore and that has caused me difficulties sometimes after struggling to overcome me.