February 12, 1994 — Morning | Milan
The headline lay under his hand before the coffee had cooled.
MUNCH’S THE SCREAM STOLEN FROM OSLO GALLERY
The paper had been folded once by the kiosk man and once again by Isaac on the walk back to the apartment, but now it lay fully opened across the breakfast table with all pretenses removed: photograph, column, outrage, the city’s preferred morning arrangement of catastrophe and weather. Outside the tall windows, Milan held to its winter discipline. Rain had come in the night and left the courtyard below darkened into black stone and silver gutters. A pale sky hung above the facing walls with expensive reluctance. Somewhere below, a porter dragged open the heavier building door. Somewhere farther off, a tram bell marked the hour as though time itself had become municipal.
