POV ENRICO

My apartment was large, modern, and absurdly organized for someone who lived in emotional chaos. Although I sometimes slept at my parents’ house, that place was my home, the place where I truly felt at ease.

I liked the clean glass, the dust-free furniture, the guitars lined up on the walls like works of art, the sheet music left open, and the amplifiers in their exact places. According to my father, it was a place that looked adult, but with the soul of a teenager.

I turned on ...