Palizzi Superiore, Calabria

An old Ape truck leans against a peeling wall in a narrow alley. The paint is chipped. The frame dented from decades of work.

I imagine it loaded with olives, grapes, furniture. Up and down the hill town’s steep paths, serving houses now closed, people who no longer live here.

The Ape is out of production now, I think. No longer allowed on the road. Before it, there were mules on these same stones, harnesses creaking under daily loads. I remember them from my childhood.

A cloud slides over the sun. The temperature drops. Goosebumps rise on my arms. Something bangs inside the cabin. I step closer, then stop. A sweet, rotting smell leaks out.

I walk away, but after a few steps, I turn back. I lift the camera and shoot from a distance.