Lou Reed
Berlin a Torino

Last night, I brought a cooler bag with a bottle of excellent white wine from work. There was a free concert by one of my favorite artists, but I had to pick up someone before heading to the venue, you know how these things go, in the meantime, you risk being late ("talking shit" as Bugo would say). Anyway, we arrive at Pellerina park, the concert location, and I immediately notice that the flora and fauna inhabiting the place have nothing to do with the event, it's full of sketchy people and street vendors who came just because DAMN, THERE'S A FREE CONCERT.

After one mishap and another, I manage to make my way to the stage, and we're halfway through "Berlin," I'm a bit annoyed, but at the same time, I'm having fun. Lou on stage is as unbothered as I am, wearing a leather vest over his bare chest and has decided to play acoustically, the acoustics of the place are terrible, and you can hear very little. But damn, Lou is always Lou. I drink, I sing, "Berlin" is in my blood, and I don't care about hearing it played in this way. It's a part of my life, I live it more than I listen to it. "The Kids," "The Bed," and finally "Sad Song" come on, they're as splendid as usual.

Then Lou jokes with the audience and throws in "Sweet Jane," "Satellite of Love," "Walk on the Wild Side." I sing and enjoy, I seem like a child under the influence, and some attendees indeed look at me with astonishment and indignation. As if it's strange to be there, moved and singing, among many tourists and patrons who are just there chatting by chance, not even knowing who Lou Reed is, but it's free, so it's alright. That's how we are, emotions come filtered, but every now and then a walk on the "wild" side is still granted to us. Thank you, Lou, you wear your years well.