Scirocco is the warm wind of my land, sometimes master of the Strait. Not just the time to go from one shore to the other. From Sicily to Calabria or vice versa. Twenty minutes in which the destinies of numerous people are intertwined, every day, every hour. I often double it, the time. I sit there, touch a bank then go back and watch in the meantime. I'm curious to see the astonishment of those who for the first time taste the wind of the strait, the absent-minded student, the habitual. Who leaves for a journey, who for love, who for a new destiny. Who returns who will simply pass by.