Several immature critics defined this play as the first “red light” play in Italian theatre. What it was, instead, was Bukowski. When we called actresses to cast them in a Rome hotel, we gave them the scripts and received – Mariano Meli and I – an endless succession of very polite refusals. In the end, there were actresses who chose us themselves and decided to take part in the play. The three young women in question turned out to be surprisingly good interpreters of their roles, able to represent something much more than just what a text like this one contained. This play ran for two seasons for more than 240 performances from Bolzano to Messina. The theatres were finally sold out. Cameras had to be given up at the box office. There were organized peeping Toms with their binoculars, but, what an audience – so many, young and old. They were in tune in the best possible way and in solidarity with that terrorist of American moralism who gave us another America when he threw his bombs of writing. “When I write I photograph what I see. I am a camera”. And we had done this. We tried to show... those photographs.