The Devil in the Hills - pg. 10

It was damp, dark, moonless; fireflies flashed. After a bit we slowed down, sweating. As we walked along we talked about our work, our experiences, our futures. We talked about ourselves with enthusiasm, we even drew Oreste into the conversation; we had walked through those streets other times, warmed by wine or by the company; but none of this mattered, it was a pretext for walking, for having the bulk of the hill beneath our feet. We walked among fields, boundary walls, gates of villas; we breathed the asphalt and the woods.