Alan Sorrenti
Figli delle stelle

Alan Sorrenti-Figli delle stelle  (1977)

So, here’s the thing. A childhood friend of mine, Ruzman, and I were in a concrete suburb outside Miami, quite far out, in Miramar, and in the evening we wanted to go to a nightclub, the Cameo in Miami Beach, where we had a date with some Italian girls.
Well, we were broke, without a dollar, when Ruz surprises me: he picks me up with a cobalt blue limo.
Son of a gun, he had won at a slot machine and found the money; that's what he said, but I thought it was a money order from his dad.

So it was all a sham to make me freak out, because there’s nothing worse than finding yourself washing dishes while everyone is having fun under the Miami sun. Ruz tells me: "hey Valé, I might have become a rasta, but the weed hasn't completely fried my brain. Ehhh what do you think?" He opens the door for me, and I get in and who do I find? "Nooooo, Ruz, how did you do it?" But where did you find her, here! in Miami! What a surprise... It seems like a Fellini ending. But the girl is Angie; I hadn't seen her in years, an ex of mine from university days... She used to do some go-go dancing on the side. But she's more beautiful than ever, not even modified, in a leopard tuxedo outfit and evening makeup, resembling Cicciolina, but more refined, even more real and sensual...
"Hey guys, you sit in the back, I'll drive to Miami... Ah, Valé, press the button on the little shelf. Then you’ll tell me. Bye guys and have fun."

After kissing Angie, wrapped around her, the limo takes off, the evening sea breeze invades us like a huge hairdryer among our strands. I press the button and bam, those Americans! A DJ- Technics of course - drops down with a sealed 33 rpm on top: Alan Sorrenti, Figli delle Stelle. A historical artifact.

I take it out of the sleeve, my hands quiver, with one hand I unhook Angie’s bra, who looks at the record surprised, with the other I pull out a new vinyl, oil black in color, with a scent only those nostalgic for analog can understand.
The S-shaped arm of the player falls onto the grooves like a plow sows grain, I look at the cover once more, which brings me back to the festive
disco days of my adolescence, those horrid middle school parties, as Elio e le Storie Tese would say.
"Figli delle Stelle" starts playing, she and I strip down, and the songs, "Donna Luna", "Un incontro in ascensore", "Casablanca"" etc. soar beautifully, one on top of the other, in a dreamlike film made of many memories, projected onto the car windows. Angie and I, as usual, love each other wildly, and Ruz seems like Charon. 

From that night I am left with a long flash, us cruising over a nocturnal metropolitan landscape crouched on an oval-shaped mirror
like on the cover of Figli delle Stelle. I woke up and said to myself Don't wake me up, please, we aren’t going to Fregene, right?