Momo, who couldn't wait to ask her old friends what was wrong and why they'd stopped coming to see her, spent the next few days looking them up.
The first person she called on was Salvatore, the bricklayer.
She knew the house well - Salvatore lived in a little garret under the roof - but he wasn't at home.
According to the other tenants, he now worked on one of the big new housing developments on the far side of town and was earning a lot of money.
He seldom came home at all these days, they said, and when he did it was usually in the small hours.
He'd taken to the bottle and was hard to get along with.
Momo decided to wait for him just the same, so she sat down on the stairs outside his door.
When it grew dark, she fell asleep. It must have been long past midnight when she was woken by the sound of unsteady footsteps and raucous singing.
Salvatore came blundering upstairs, caught sight of Momo, and stopped short, looking dumbfounded.
“Momo!” he said hoarsely, clearly embarrassed to be seen in his present condition.
“So you're still around, eh? What on earth are you doing here?”
“Waiting to see you,” Momo replied shyly. “You're a fine one, I must say!” Salvatore smiled and shook his head.
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