“Fancy turning up to see your old pal Salvatore in the middle of the night!”
“I'd have paid you a visit myself, ages ago, but I just don't have the time any more, not for - well, personal things.”
He gestured vaguely and flopped down on the stairs beside her.
“You've no idea the kind of life I lead these days. Things aren't the way they used to be - times are changing.”
“Over where I'm working now, everything's done in double-quick time.”
“We all work like fury. One whole floor a day, that's what we have to sling together, day after day.”
“Yes, it isn't like it used to be. Everything's organized - every last move we make...”
Momo listened closely as he rambled on, and the longer she listened the less enthusiastic he sounded.
Suddenly he lapsed into silence and massaged his face with his work-roughened hands.
“I've been talking rubbish,” he said sadly. “I'm drunk again, Momo, that's the trouble.”
“I often get drunk these days, there's no denying it, but that's the only way I can stomach the thought of what we're doing over there.”
“To an honest bricklayer like me, it goes against the grain. Too little cement and too much sand, if you know what that means.”
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