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I passed the Istituto Tecnico Commerciale, where a riot seemed to be in progress both inside and
outside the building. Students inside were hanging out of the upstairs windows, tossing down books and
papers, and holding shouted exchanges with their colleagues on the ground. Whether this was some sort of
protest or merely part of the daily routine I couldn't tell. All I know is that everywhere I went there was rubbish
and pandemonium - people shouting, horns honking, ambulances bleating.
After Capri the din and filth were hard to take. I walked and walked and it never got any better. I found
the main shopping street, the Via Roma, and though the shops were generally smart, it was thronged with
people and litter and all but impossible to walk along without stepping down off the pavement and into the
edge of the lunatic traffic. Not once did I see a hotel that looked as if its beds were occupied for more than
twenty minutes at a time.
Eventually, to my considerable surprise, I found myself in the Piazza Garibaldi, in front of the central
railway station. I had walked right the way across Naples. Sweat-streaked and footsore, I looked back at the
city I had just walked through and thought about giving it one more try. But I couldn't face it. Instead I went
into the station, waving off the twenty-seven taxi drivers, and bought a ticket to Florence. Things would have
to be better there.
 
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