Back to Roma, and packing to leave tomorrow. I took a few shots on the train from the airport. A beautiful and elegant woman started to course other passengers for petty reasons, and then went into a monologue, louder and louder, in some Slavic language. The only work I could understand was “curva” (prostitute). As she started to intersperse some Italian words to the language, I could picture the uncomfortable talk she probably had at the airport with policemens accusing her to be a bitch. Comments about Italian politics, about a country rotten to the core, also popped in her monologue. Having a street photo assignment to do made me braver than I would usually be in this situation, and I dared a few pics. The seat in front of me ensured a bit of protection, but was also working well to divide the scene in two parts: it provided that boundary that the traveller to the right was desperately seeking. Unfortunately most of the monologue was done with her face towards the windows, apart from occasional and sudden burst of rage directed to the desperate passenger sitting opposite to her.
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