Milan feels cool and, at the same time, oddly menacing. The massive presence of the Sforza castle in the middle of the city hints at sinister scenes within walls. The typical Italian swagger - tight pants, shiny sneakers, the shirt hanging out of the mauve sweater, overdone sunglasses - makes one feel about to be swindled. When the lights go out at night, the city has dark corners suddenly illuminated by speeding sports cars. If you ask someone a question in the street you are likely to get a brusque answer, or no answer at all. You are reminded of the decadent charms of Visconti and the perverse brilliancy of Pasolini.
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