This lane that can 'seem so narrow, it contains all the joys, sorrows, anxieties, hopes, dreams, sorrows, games, the batticuori of my country, a small village in the hills. E 'from here you reach the church for the ceremonies happy and sad. From here you reach the square where an old woman selling apples cooked and old, sat on one bench, silent. Scrutinizing a young man who leaned against the fountain waiting, excited, the girl who came with the heartbeat .... head in the bucket ... his excuses early. Yes, some nostalgic tear can 'fall. The knowledge that young people going through roaring motorcycles, indiffenti to what can 'it was important to their predecessors, this small street of the Manetti, puts a bit' sad.
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