Milan, coming home through the side door
I came back to Milan from Casablanca with sand in my bag and a family dinner already scheduled, loudly, in my absence. Milan is not a city people romanticize. That is its charm. It works, it dresses well, and it lets you drink an espresso al banco for less than the price of a napkin elsewhere.
I went to the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II at dawn, when the mosaic floor is being cleaned and the glass roof holds a grey, even light. At dusk the Duomo's marble turns pale after the crowds leave. Evenings were the Navigli, a risotto at a family trattoria worth sitting still for, and one Sunday, the antique market along the canal. Then home, to a table where three conversations happen at once.

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"One frame a day, from wherever I wake up. The rest of the roll lives on Instagram."
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