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Le preghiere della buona sorte.

night. Have a question, then take time. Started to sweat. Schiaritevi a couple of times the item. With the index and middle fingers of his right hand, extended his shirt collar. Melt, defeated, you have previously worn a tie for the occasion. Choose a thousand tie, in a perfect mess. Choose the one that you have horrible striped tie. Open the cabinet in a hurry, each time amazed as the first. Embrace ACRI smell of days long past, all those who lived in the clothes you have placed too quickly. Here it is, the smell of your past, stored in four wooden walls, even aged. Choose a tie, a righe perchè l'occasione lo richiede. Non è un appuntamento romantico, né una riunione di lavoro, ci vuole qualcosa di serio ma brutto al contempo, qualcosa che non distragga lo sguardo, qualcosa che non stemperi la tensione. Selezionate accuratamente l'armadio tra i cento che offre il negozio. Quello enorme, che ci sta dentro l'intero anno, le quattro stagioni, le vacanze estive e quelle invernali. Quell'armadio con pochi specchi ma tanto spazio. Pesante e ben fatto. Quello che durerà a lungo, resistendo persino al furore dei bambini. Grande che ci stiano le valigie vuote, i maglioni fuori moda ma ancora troppo nuovi per andare in beneficenza. Enorme, per contenere un paio di scheletri e qualche amante. Non un vialetto qualunque. Meglio perderci del tempo ma esser sicuri. Comprate la casa nella nuova zona residenziale, forse c'è da attendere qualche mese, sarà nuova però. Tre bagni che sembrano esagerati ma se c'è l'ospite poi la vedi la comodità. Coltivate molte amicizie nel frattempo, ma nulla di impegnativo, non vorrete che passino settimane in casa vostra, quando saranno mollati dal consorte alle tre del mattino? Se aveste il quarto bagno forse...Tre sono pochi. I bambini hanno bisogno di spazio. Non fa bene rompere le loro abitudini quando stanno crescendo. I bambini sono così delicati. Meglio se il riscaldamento è autonomo, niente rotture, caldo e freddo quando avete voglia. Si, una villetta con giardino. Nella vetrina del negozio c'è un cucciolo con una macchia black on the head, you look confident, appearing cheerful and strong, sweet eyes, a ferret that you can not resist. A collie will be fine, you know you envy your neighbors? Costa, you know, pedigree and all, but is a necessary expenditure. The standard of living, new car, the automatic sprinklers that wet the pajamas, the first time you go to throw away the trash. It must be getting used to. The bed was great when he arrived in the arms of forced porters. Now, only a few inches each, a real torture. The space required on board as you pass the wrong night, his face fixed to the wall. Like when the plaster a wall full of moisture attack you, they do not you can avoid it, is stronger than everything, even reason. It is not home. Yet the lead on the fingers swelling of the wall, press up to make it explode. Everything falls apart in the long run. There is no plaster to hold. Already on the morning of the wedding was not the emotion that drove his knees on the ground, face to face with the violent toilet. Fear. That's all. Fear. Do not ask her out, let me ask you. It is not a knight but eventually pays off. See? Sundays in the fall as a chestnut to the forest, with her father. The woman of your dreams seemed unattainable. The most beautiful among others. Also the first time, while the rest of the people drooling. It is pointless when the power of memory to rediscover morning. Can not be and however it is. In cars such as more tainted teens township. Mom and Dad could have chosen an apartment in a modern style, maybe a hotel room, a four star, I know. Car no. Instead, the conception does not allow for choice, it is often only passion. The ability to choose ends here. No one remembers anything of what happened before. No forms. None required. A ten thousand meters, anchored to the chair, a backpack with a parachute attached to the back does not bode well. Suddenly a guy with a beard and mustache grabs you by the collar and straight below. The only time when it would be worthwhile to exercise the right to choose, the one in which potersi ancora salvare, è anche il primo in cui non si sceglie. La scelta non è umana, non è cosciente, né concreta. La camicia ha cambiato colore sino a dove si stringe nella cintola che tiene i pantaloni. Sudore. A notte fonda. Fatevi una domanda e non rispondete. Il silenzio, alla lunga, paga. Non era un rumore strano quello. Non c'è una pistola nell'ultima scatola in cima, nascosta nella stanza degli attrezzi. Eliminare la paura all'origine, non il brutto ceffo che attenta alla vostra sicurezza notturna, non è la migliore delle soluzioni. Troppo tardi. Buona notte.

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Il calice della salvezza.

Questi momenti splendidi, durano quanto le bolle in cui si trasforma l'acqua mentre la torture to a hundred degrees centigrade. Just off the flame, they cease to exist and it seems that the long minutes waiting in vain have gone lost. While the pot stops subdued to say the words typical of their job, we lose that vague feeling of celebration that gives the kitchen every time you make them free. Such as extreme hunger that comes in mid-day hours when it was devoured by the cold breakfast in the morning alone. For every tasty morsel to be diminishing the effect of chewing Endorf tasty. Everything always ends in the fall of perception. Too quickly or too slowly, more rarely. So the wine. A glass of red from the absolute and fatal collapse of sobriety, one almost has the feeling of holding impudent between forefinger and thumb of his right to happiness.

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Delitto e fastidio.

not without effort, the few words he wrote on the piano closed. Insistent in the dust, with the index uncertain. He left what looked like a solemn epitaph and perfect, a great cry for a start like that. He pulled the curtains. He turned off the fan coils on either side of the room. The pumps and pretend to grind fresh air, they ceased to complain to their usual weight. Some crunch complacency. The house drew perhaps a sigh of relief. The walls have not tasted a silence for too long. The lamps scattered on the furniture, already tasted natural twilight. A well-deserved break after so much work. For months the electricity cables had to scroll up in the morning. Screams, light, shock, tears. Already some small drops of sweat flowed from the sordid temples, grabbed the long neck to neck on chilly fall, after leaving my hair smelling. It was not the job. It was not fatigue. It was not sleep. It was not the wrinkles of a smile came too soon. It was not the heavy responsibility on the slender shoulders. It was not the bitterness of renunciation. It was not the wish of the late romantic words. It was not empty at important moments. Not even hunger. It was not the thought of her lips, engaged in conversation without words. It was not even the dark shape always uncertain and the partners who happened to be every time. It was not for the coffee to two taverns in the suburbs. It was not because the skirts are too short. Not for the lies. Perhaps even the stench of promiscuous lives that he brought with him from the dance halls where he spent the night. It was for himself, because he could not be strong enough. Uninhibited, clever, cynical, violent. He missed everything. It was a damn good man. Off the cliff, as the Spartans weak as an infant. An unnatural selection. Painful yet full of pity for the suffering to which evaded the unfortunate. He was chubby at birth. After the pat on the buttocks, he told his mother, uttered a cry from the first scare. The doctor said he was a boy strong and healthy. No one had taken the trouble to shove in your mouth an arm to search for those muscles that are not seen. No one can look through. Nor can they really do the thousands of modern machines. Wipe with your finger the two sentences on the piano. He wiped his hand on his trousers clear. He pulled the door behind him strong. He did not bother the keys. He smiled. No attention to the gas of the windows, lock the house of every petty. He climbed the stairs, with the nimbleness of a boy. One shoulder was enough to knock down the door of the attic. The Commander was away for a while. The goalkeeper had watered the plants at noon. No alarms. The cats knew him well, even moved when he entered, nearly falling, over the door lying on the ground. He went into the kitchen, drank water directly from the tap. He wiped the sides of his mouth with his forearm, without worrying about new shirt and starched. He took an apple from the old basket, bit into it. He smiled again. Was healing. That little cathartic path to liberation was making the soul back, like new, ready to be returned to the owner in exchange for some 'peace. He flung open the window. He went out on the porch. He squeezed his eyes to the harsh light of day. A strong breath. He spread his arms, as in the morning, just waking up and launched into a quick and powerful stroke. In a moment he was in a vacuum. He was already looking at the palace gradually disappeared from his view. The heart was beating strong. He remembered when a child told a friend that runs underneath, someone had died in the middle of fall, only to fear. He did not. He enjoyed the end. Speed \u200b\u200bmade his heavy body. The gravity holding out his arms as her mother never did see him come back from school. Impact against a tent flap, unfortunately open to stem the afternoon heat. The tent was broken with a sharp sound. He had shoulder pain. Was it during impact if the dislocated. I just cut trousers are tied to one of the aluminum arm that held the curtain suspended lungo la facciata. Un imprevisto. Con la destra ancora illesa cercò immediatamente di liberarsi per terminare il lavoro. Con la coda dell’occhio prima, con lo sguardo intero poi, guardò di là dai vetri. Era lei. Nuda. Teneva il portiere ancora dentro di sé. Entrambi lo osservavano ammutoliti. Attoniti. Increduli. Intontiti dall’amplesso e dallo spavento assieme. I pantaloni cedettero improvvisamente. Cadde ancora. Lo aveva colpito ancora. Era riuscita a negargli persino la soddisfazione piena di un gesto tanto estremo. La disperazione ebbe modo di attanagliarlo, di accompagnarlo al suolo. Ancora soltanto il tempo di pensare allo sguardo di lei quando avrebbe letto le frasi sul pianoforte. Nella stanza imprudentemente appena visitata, ai piedi del bed, lay the green plastic watering can. The porter had given water to the plants of the attic at noon. To have more time after lunch. They spent weeks because everything was settled. It was not easy. It was as if he had died of yellow fever in the Amazon. Applications, documents, annoyances. The widow entered the apartment to retrieve a few items. Feelings quite skinny, she paused beside the piano. He was completely covered with dust, because of some windows left open. A gray layer disturbing. She hated the dust. He left angry, never to return.