Julio Iglesias
Innamorarsi alla mia età

10 seconds to collision. I wasn’t prepared. The object is approaching at a speed of about 60 kilometers per hour. I have little time and I realize that the album I have always loved is Falling in Love at My Age by Iglesias. The first track seems like a prophecy "You can't live like this". Julio, pronounced Culio, thank you for your advice, but there are 9 seconds left to impact. The sweating has visibly increased. I have to prepare for the worst. I can already hear the first notes of the title track. The more I listen, the less I understand your charm. How could you be a playboy if you kept saying "With a bitter taste I must tell you, dear"? Bad breath, Culio, you had bad breath. Meanwhile, time gives me no escape. I can't change the trajectory and I’m terrified. 8 seconds and I remember the song "Almost a Saint" with that suburban dance hall sound. My eyes are fixed on this approaching object and only 7 seconds remain. And Julio, Culio, with his good manners, repeats that sex without love is always the same. So I slightly open my arms to balance myself. A balance that seems unstable. 6 seconds away from impact. I don't even have time to think of a reaction because this album spins around in my head. The songs blend together and "If I Came Back" surfaces. I recite every word as if I had written it myself "If I came back, why not, staying distant means nothing".

5 seconds to the inevitable crash, I clench my fists, digging my nails into my palms. My whole body is tense. But my mind drifts and focuses on the album cover. His photo with Polaroid colors. Bowing his head to ensure he hasn’t stepped on anything uncomfortable, with his new moccasins.
4 seconds. 4. My heart beats faster, I feel it in my throat. And from my stomach, a revolting sour taste enters my mouth, making my nostrils flare. Could it be the tension? Could it be this album? Could it be that I feel like Culio? Maybe even you, the reader, feel a bit like Culio.
The distraction has stolen more time from me. Only 3 seconds. Goosebumps. I feel the pores reacting, the follicles stimulating the hairs, a shiver that makes my hair stand on end. The imminent impact distracts me from Pupo's album. But not Pupo, Iglesias, the handsome singer from the late '70s. The one who sold 300 million records. Now only 2 seconds remain. I don’t know what might happen to me. After the crash, I don't know if I’ll still be able to remember this film I love so much. Or maybe it was an album. The last second. My neck makes a strange twist to the right, I close my eyes and tuck my head between my shoulders.

Collision.

“…from the side line.” “Sorry Lotti, I'm taking the line from Udine. Fantastic header by Kevin Lasagna who slots the ball to the right of the opposing goalkeeper. A phenomenal assist from the Argentinian De Paul. Udinese has taken the lead 5 minutes before the final whistle. Passing back to the studio and I'll keep you updated in case of further developments.”