That day, those moments, everything – today it all comes back to life. Outside it’s raining; it’s 2017 and the windows of the tram are all fogged up. Tecla looks at them and can see her life play out. Italo, that city just a stone’s throw from Florence, the one that still had to take shape, where there were fields, farmers, villas here and there with their masters. All in the span of twenty minutes, on that new-track tram leading her from Piazzale della Resistenza to Santa Maria Novella. Today, the fields are no longer here and an architect named Rogers has brought about a modern center, complete with shops and spirited lights. Rolling by are different people, another life. The hills that watch her from afar. The “Mulinaccio.” She opens her purse and takes out a notepad. With her pencil she marks down new itineraries, new travels, notes of her new life. She casts her eyes on Italo, who’s seated in front of her. Eighty-six years old; he kept his promise.