One day, in March 1977, I went to a birthday party. This party was different from all the other ones I had been to so far, because this time I would have the chance to meet the girl of my dreams, maybe talk to her, maybe dance with her. I had been waiting for weeks and, in the end, the magic day had arrived.
Just imagine the scene: it was late afternoon, I walked into the room and…BANG!, there she was, dancing to a disco-song called “More more more”. Her stunning beauty struck me like a thunderbolt and that song sounded to me like the most fantastic piece of music ever written (I was a die-hard rock’n’roll fan and I hated disco-music, but…who cared?!).
Things didn’t go well on that particular evening; time, the Great Gentleman, always working for the broken-hearted, started doing its job and I slowly forgot everything.
One day, in March 2002 (it was early afternoon), I was driving to work and listening to an oldies programme on the radio. Suddenly, I heard a faraway but familiar song: it was the sound of a teenage party of 25 years before. I had to stop the car, carefully listen and recollect memories. They were memories of an awkward teenager who had entered a room in his best clothes, full of hopes and expectations; memories of an eternal moment, when anything could still happen.