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Rockabilly
Not stylish, not “clean”, not “intellectual”… but damn fun!!
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Parachute
Didn’t have a wider lens, so I got the most interesting part of the frame…
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L’estate sta finendo…
L’estate sta finendo (the Summer is going to end) sang and old Italo Disco tune from The Righeira. The very first sign of Autumn to come is the cleaning and the storing of the beach chairs…
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Night Serenade
Is there anything more romantic?
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Come on in…
What will you find at the end of the corridor?
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Seeking Directions
Where do I go from here?
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Nico Cilli Band@Chiostro Comunale – Città S.Angelo
A few shots from a reportage I did during a jazz gig.
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Reminiscenses From The Past
Lost in memories, while the world turns.
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The Casual Observer
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Peeping the misery
Sometimes it works the other way.
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While Waiting for the Food
Somewhere coastal, sometime after sundown. The table is set, the drinks half gone, the plates not yet full. It’s the in-between moment—the pause before the meal arrives, when conversation either deepens or disappears. He’s on his phone, thumb scrolling with purpose, eyes locked to the glow. Around him, the restaurant hums: plastic chairs, thatched roof, barefoot kids running between tables, the usual clatter of dishes and casual voices. A holiday place, probably. Warm air, sea salt, and time meant to be slower. What struck me was not the act—because it’s common—but the woman across from him. Half-hidden, partly blurred, yet watching. Not annoyed, not angry. Just watching. The kind of…
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The Doorman
Another hard night at the door is going to start.
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The Silent Dialog
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Bycicle Ride
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Afternoon’s Mumbling
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Garbage Collection
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Lifeguard
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High Heels Ghost
On Saturday night, ghosts too dress themselves up.
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Saturday Night’s Ice Cream
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When We Were Kids
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Avid Readers
Anything, Anywhere…
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Gotcha!
It was the contrast that caught my eye. A man stands knee-deep in the Adriatic shallows, focused, precise, moving a small blue net through the water like he’s brushing dust off glass. He’s working under the shadow of a trabocco—a towering wooden fishing machine, all cables and beams, designed to drop massive nets and haul in fish by the hundreds. The kind of structure that speaks of industry, tradition, scale. But here he is. Alone. Shirtless. Waist-deep. Fishing by hand. The second frame pulls back. You see it all—the full span of the trabocco, its arms stretched wide like a maritime cathedral. And at the base, dwarfed by design, the same man…
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The Sentinel
Though guys never rest.
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Uncertainity
Should I Board?