On the day after Christmas in 2021, I impulsively booked a flight from Florence to Miami for a last minute New Year's Eve solo adventure.

It was my first time ever traveling business class.
It didn’t feel like I imagined. It felt odd.
I kept thinking: You work hard all year to get cold grapefruit served to you by a steward in business class. Who laughs hysterically at your jokes.

I landed in Miami and went straight to bed.

On January 1st 2022, I found myself jet lagged at 7 am in a hotel room and decided to go to a club.

I was surrounded by groups of friends and lovey-dovey couples, still immersed in the euphoria of the previous night's celebration.

Alone in the crowd, it was just me and another guy.
He was a lone wolf, and I was the ghost of myself.

I was emerging from my most challenging year ever, grappling with the aftermath of a burnout.

He sensed it.
He must have.

On the dancefloor, he came to me.

Three months later, I flew back to Florence.
This time, I travelled economy.