”Genoa. One evening my wife felt very ill. I bundled her into the car and rushed to the San Martino hospital. They told me to put her in the corridor. It was full of injured people from outside the European Union, perhaps injured in some sort of riot; there were transvestites, fools, and prostitutes. My wife was feeling even worse. I didn’t know what to do. It’s the first time it’s happened to me. I asked a nurse for help. He tells me to stay calm. “Try not to worry.” Calm? But if she hasn’t even been examined. I look around to find a doctor and find none. I’m afraid of leaving my wife on her own while I go off to find a doctor. Another nurse goes by. He tells me to leave my wife fully dressed. DO NOT take her shoes off. “Otherwise they’ll steal them…” But where the hell am I? Am I in a public hospital paid for with my taxes or in a souk frequented by thieves and whores? After a bit, the nurse comes back with a chain and padlock. “This is for your wife’s handbag.” he explains; “Chain it to the bed, otherwise after a bit she won’t find it anymore.” My wife, who had heard all this, looked at me like an injured fawn. I took her in my arms and I ran away. With the first taxi I went to a private hospital. I don’t have a lot of money, even because it all goes in taxes for these pigs. I got into debt for the operation that was urgent. Now my wife is feeling better. However, Italy is by now rotten. In the United States, you die unless you have private insurance. For us it’s no different. If you don’t have some money put aside, if you don’t take out your own insurance, after having paid the taxes for the public health service, you die anyway. However, it’s more democratic.“ Alessio T.