This article is published in number 13 of Vanity Fair on newsstands until March 30, 2021
Let the one who invented the epistolary novel be cursed, but the one who invented the chats is cursed, probably also attributable to patient zero of a pandemic in which graphomaniacs flock more than DPCM. They have all the mitigating circumstances of the case, it is enough to stay in the Municipality next door and the excuse to stay in the shadows makes these ghosts even good citizens. I do not want Mario Draghi, but net of current legislation, I say see you. It makes no sense to write for days, tell and idealize oneself, if the smell doesn’t work, if when he walks he takes away the poem, if he treats the waiter badly at dinner. The game is played on the ground of reality, and even the most magical of young Werther becomes one you would never have watched in the station. In addition, the rule always applies that if Patrick Swayze in Ghost came back from the realm of the dead to see Demi Moore last time, I’d say your sweetheart can make an effort too.
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