I was the one doing the guest interviews, I was good, even if the other writers had to keep reminding me to include questions about family or the interviewee’s passions; if it were up to me, I would have only discussed work, that uncommon world, headed for extinction.

When my mind wandered, I’d relax by writing out lines from the website of the architects who’d designed this multipurpose complex: this poetry, the architects’ and Milan’s, transported me into the future, even while my job didn’t matter to me.

Five white buildings around a courtyard

combining functions

(diminishing mobility)

new iconic form

Six conceived levels, double-width structural units

Each unit designed with an open floor plan, a mezzanine

loft, studios, stores, restaurants, and offices.

A hanging, rooftop garden

interior piazzas

geothermal utilization of underground water

radiant floor heating

ventilation

glass, wood, and vegetation

self-cleaning concrete to reduce smog

A flat strip of solid forms and spaces

white mesh screening

that rolls down and engulfs

the transparency of glass

One night I wrote down: “Love is the afterlife of plot—if the plot is too effective, how will we see the love shine through?”

Was I jealous of Barbara and my sister? I had to respect them, not ask too many explicit questions, avoid putting them in the position of feeling that they mustn’t contradict each other. Sooner or later, Barbara and I would get to that other apartment and reestablish that sense of ownership that’s practical for the life of the couple, but we weren’t ready just yet.

One night, we were in our bed making love while Irene and Francesca watched a movie in their room, and after a bit, I asked if we were making love because we could hear them nearby. She said, “Yup,” and I laughed.

Barbara remained physically distant, we weren’t united, it was more like sex between strangers, and in the midst of this lack of involvement, I’d tell her my fantasies, a gesture which she reciprocated only rarely.

I was standing over her and I’d opened an erotic video chat on my laptop, so now I saw Barbara below me and there beside her, on the screen, was another woman, on livestream, unaware of us and the fact that she was lying there with her legs dangling just like Barbara and touching herself while I stood by the bed, one knee on the mattress, penetrating Barbara: “It’s like I’m fucking you to get her off.”

I felt her back arching, and she was squeezing my hips between her thighs, turning her head to check the screen.

“What do you see?” I asked, so she’d talk about herself.

“What do you mean? What do you want to hear?”

“Do you like what I’m saying, or are you just putting up with it?”

“No … I like it … but … yeah, I like it.”

“What do you see?”

“Nothing. Us.”