Yellow Pearl

The heat finally broke overnight. A cataclysmic storm hit Milan, lightning flashing behind the slab of the Pirelli Tower, my hotel room shaking with the thunder. It battered the city, drove rain into every crevice, drowned it.And yet, by next morning, there was no sign of it. The streets were dry and the sky was blue again. The only indicator that something had changed was the slight wisp of wind that cut across open areas and the heat being that little bit less intense. It was as though it had been tamed.I was only just outside Milan proper, in the adjoining municipality of San Donato, where a bus station had been slotted in above the metro and alongside the motorways. It was shabbier than most, its cafes fronted with plastic chairs, a loose market selling cheap clothes at one end. I passed through the local platforms, then out past a newer building for long-distance services. There were already queues of people waiting there with suitcases. I went out, over the bus access ramps and…