Mr. Schiller

This is F. Schiller (28), whom I never met at "Milano Centrale" on Friday, August 10th, 2018 at 5:45 AM. F. was born and raised in Weimar where, from an early age, he showed a propensity for screwing up and getting into troubles of ever-increasing severity. He quit school at fifteen and hang out downtown mostly up to no good. That made him a frequent visitor of that nice, tall, white-washed Jugendstil building at 13 Markt, the central police station. Some of these interviews continued in front of a judge and were followed by stays in various Juvenile detention centres (where he was a waste of rehabilitation effort). By the age of 21, he'd already spent three years "inside" - mostly for theft and never for anything violent. F. was after-all very nice and gentle who abhorred brutality, who talked and joked with you, bought you a drink and then rob you. Weimar, Germany gradually became less than his favourite place on Earth and he drifted slowly Southward where Italy waited for him with open arms: better weather, many careless tourists with expensive cameras, fat wallets and heavy backpacks and most importantly a totally incompetent and inefficient police of lazy dudes, not always very bright. So, coming back to the fateful 45th minute of the fifth hour of the tenth day of the eighth month of the 2018th year when F. slipped away with my backpack, inside the laptop, the tablet, the camera and sundry items. And that is how I met Andrea Improta (did not give me his rank) at the police station the quintessential Italian policeman fitting the description advanced above. Andrea spent a vast portion of our quality time trying to convince me that I can file a police report when I get back to Toronto ... he even showed me how slow his computer was saying that it will take hours and I'll miss my train.  He was right, in fact, I missed the next TWO trains but boarded the third train with a copy of the "Attestazione Della Ricezione Di Denuncia"| that he produced in slow and careful, hit and miss, two finger-search-helicopter style typing interrupted occasionally by colleagues who would open the door grin and say something to Andrea (must've something been funny because the staff-room would immediately erupt in hollers and laughter) ...
Somewhere close by, F. was wondering if the laptop and tablet are password-protected (they were).