CITY SUNDAY: is mystery still possible? The City is happy, it lives a long Sunday as if living in a commercial for anti-wrinkle cream. But one day the city is confronted with the mystery of truth. It isn’t religion, art or politics. Where does all this lie? No, the true mystery is the Mystery and it resists normal words.

The key question is how the City will react to this strangeness? Our City, which covers over the defects and meets on the Café Sunday, with all smiles, drinking tea, milk and lemonade. What does any of this have to do with our lives, would anyone mind telling me? With the country in which we live, with the Europe with which we dream, with our individual story of citizens crossing the winds of old public squares?