Angelo Carrella is a sixtyfive old man with a large smile. He emigrated from South of Italy 40 years ago in the search of a job. Angelo is a man like many others, if were it not for his habit to wander around the city by car, stop somewhere and indulge to his passion: reading. On cold Sunday afternoons during the winter or in the warm days of spring, he parks his car in front of the horizon and read. The embankment, the strip of land on that once were housed the illegal gardens, the airport, are some of the places he likes to spend hours in solitude. Sometimes, on weekends, he goes through the city with his friend Tony. Through the german center, the Italian neighborhoods, the suburbs, the industrial area. He stops at the serbian kiosk in Viale Druso to drink a beer and eat a cevapcici. The places of the city are the anchors of his memory.