Late evening in July 1985, on a small seaside town in the North-East of Italy. It was hot, but not as unbearable as it is now. Back then, I used to spend some time each day, usually at dusk, sitting in our courtyard looking at the sky and imagining how it would be to see the missiles flying above us, eager to reach their targets. It strikes me now how I used to think about the possibility of nuclear war: terrified and excited at the same time. Like an inevitability that I should at least have...
