I like listening to two types of story - those brought by time-wearied footsteps and those that have yet to be born.

I have a dead-weight girl in my arms and two wide-open eyes staring at me from the other side of the reception desk. Anna, the owner of the eyes, quickly recovers from her astonishment and starts to shower me with orders. "The girl has just checked in, her name's Rebecca, put her down on the sofa while I call a doctor, Pietro! Don't just stand there, try calling her name! Lay her down!"
[to be continued...]

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