Bergamo Streets12:47 PM
The walk back from Zingonia to his apartment took twenty minutes along the route he'd used throughout the season, and the day was warm without being heavy and the streets were at their midday pace — unhurried, a few people outside café tables, delivery vans making their rounds.
He pulled out his phone while walking and the notifications had been accumulating since he'd silenced it at the start of the recovery session.
Eighty-nine waiting.
He opened the messages first.
His mother's text was from earlier that morning: Come to Milan this week if you can. I'm making dinner Thursday. I'm so proud of you, Demien. Come and let me feed you properly.
He replied while walking — Thursday works, I'll come Wednesday evening — and kept moving.
