I do remember the first day of May in 1994. I was at Piliggi’s house, there was some party going on; I can’t recall if it was his birthday or what else, maybe it was something about his first communion. A few classmates and I were downstairs, in the internal courtyard of the apartment complex where he lived, possibly passing a football or possibly planning to take over the world, as ten-year-old kids do. I remember that Piliggi called us from his balcony: – Hey! Senna died! – What are you talking about, Pier! – No, really! – Yeah sure, we believe you – Just come upstairs And Senna had indeed just died. We weren’t that much into car racing, nor we really understood much about it; after all we were just kids. But it was that moment in history where you’d always hear about Ayrton Senna, Alain Prost, Nigel…