Marco took a bus to Naples the next morning.
Not for a job, though he needed one. Not for his lost wallet, though that would’ve helped. He was searching for a film he had glimpsed once, late at night, in a tiny Sicilian trattoria that no longer existed. La Riffa — something about a woman selling her possessions in a raffle, a story of dignity and desperation. He’d caught only twenty minutes before the power went out, but those twenty minutes had lodged themselves behind his ribs like a splinter. where to watch la riffa
He spent three days knocking on doors of film archives, collector basements, and a strange little museum dedicated to Neapolitan cinema. On the third day, an old projectionist named Signora Rizzo took pity on him. “You’re looking for a ghost,” she said. But then she smiled. “I like ghosts.” Marco took a bus to Naples the next morning