Roaming is the act of wandering unsystematically from place to place, without a meaning, without a purpose. During some long mornings and brief nights i’ve roamed around the street of Milan, without any other purpose of making time go by A journey without a destination, without any other limit than the one imposed by the necessity of going back in time, of pretending to have some form of routine, of busy life. A journey in the dark, no matter the hour or the season. It was the darkness of my mind deprived of it’s own desire for life. These unsorted scene i’ve encountered along the way were among the few crumbs of light my unconscious was able to see in that constant night