Beautiful history

In the mid-nineties I worked in a town called Cortina d'Ampezzo.
In the morning I always went to breakfast in a bar very hidden, very anonymous.
This man was always in the corner reading his newspaper.
After some days we became "breakfast friends",
either inadvertently,

by the mere fact that we had breakfast
every day at the same time.

One day he invited me to sit at his table.
He shook my hand.

We took a coffee and a slice of cake together.
I paid.
It was the last time I saw him.
His name was Vittorio Gassman

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