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Francesco Nencini


For sure people in Milan spend more time at work than elsewhere, they live more their offices than their homes. Who knows if it’s a need, or an addiction, or a sense of duty, or if work is their private hideaway from a reality that satisfies them very little. Who knows if there’s anybody waiting for them at home for dinner and if there are hidden dreams closed inside the drawers of their desks, mixed together with papers.

The Workaholics are real Lords of the Work, decided to renounce to their free time and to their amusements, always. Their lifeblood grows sitting on the chair, in front of that monitor that sucks them magnetically, among those papers piled on the desk. It seems that their only aim is to produce, produce and produce. Until recession do them apart.

Workaholics were born in Milan or got there by pilgrimage, convinced that the “Cathedral of the Work” would have something to offer them. They became faithful of the Calvinistic culture of the city, which took possession of their emotions and of their soul, annihilating them up to brutalization.

To see them, when daylight sets, you just have to walk around the city and look beyond the glass buildings. Face to face, we realise that, all in all, also we are like them and spend a great part of our daily life in front of the monitor of this computer, from which I am writing you and through which you are watching me.

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