do not know why my dreams of the past few days are so vivid and real, and above all so cinematic, exciting, almost Hollywood.
But I'm not going to be analyzed for what you dream, I would say that for now I have put in place more than I wanted and he will not speak about this, but rather to Rosa.
"La Rosetta", the article before habit indispensable to us northerners, it's not the michetta washer or if you prefer, a type of bread, but a person, almost my own age. The daughter of Sicilian
low culture, a propensity to commit crimes and experts in dirty tricks and loopholes, it is the only girl of three brothers, one of whom has spent most of his life in jail, and - just out - did not match the better to kill himself in a minor car accident.
has been in prison for so long that almost no one remembered him as one who, when his father was on his deathbed, came with the phone of the police to greet the parent . No more than a couple of hours with the soldiers who guarded the road and yard over the shoulder machine guns.
The other brother does not live here anymore, but every day with the mother sends her sister fuck, smoking cigarettes under the door and see all as if the whole world on the same shit.
Rosetta was in eighth grade when I attended the first or second. It was certainly a beauty, perhaps he was also a bit 'of a mustache, but lacked the nerve and rough upbringing. Think of it, seemed almost a half-mad. Maybe that's why, across the street from school to home, he loved belting songs like "Come with me to Milazzo, I'll see ..." and stuff like that. I found it rather strange and a bit 'put me too intimidating, so slowed down and let some twenty yards ahead of me, which did well his numbers and sings his rhymes. I do not think we'd never even said goodbye.
It is true that his should not be an easy life. The father, though always elegant dress, complete with a Borsalino, was still part of the archaic and closed world from which it came. Using the barrel is the wife to her daughter. Easy to light up like a match, were the proverbial scenes of various kinds were consumed between home, yard and street. And the brothers did not have to be much better, because the mother had to rebuke them when they were too interested in the generous bosom of Rosetta. I heard her say to the concierge, but not without some pride, things like: "I have to be careful, because Rosetta is ddonna ddonna and understand that these are also men. "
I lost sight of the "Rosetta" for a long time, I knew I was married and had a couple of children, that her husband had the same defect in the father, who could not keep their hands in place, which has had several breakdowns, which have removed their children, got divorced and she returned to live in his mother's house.
is in this period, inevitably, often meeting in the reception and she began to greet me with a "hello" that seemed to encapsulate all the suffering of at least twenty years of a life incredibly miserable and rough. A hello that looked like a helping hand in search of aid that I could not offer a hello that flickered an unstable equilibrium, dangerous and desperate.
The other brother does not live here anymore, but every day with the mother sends her sister fuck, smoking cigarettes under the door and see all as if the whole world on the same shit.
Rosetta was in eighth grade when I attended the first or second. It was certainly a beauty, perhaps he was also a bit 'of a mustache, but lacked the nerve and rough upbringing. Think of it, seemed almost a half-mad. Maybe that's why, across the street from school to home, he loved belting songs like "Come with me to Milazzo, I'll see ..." and stuff like that. I found it rather strange and a bit 'put me too intimidating, so slowed down and let some twenty yards ahead of me, which did well his numbers and sings his rhymes. I do not think we'd never even said goodbye.
It is true that his should not be an easy life. The father, though always elegant dress, complete with a Borsalino, was still part of the archaic and closed world from which it came. Using the barrel is the wife to her daughter. Easy to light up like a match, were the proverbial scenes of various kinds were consumed between home, yard and street. And the brothers did not have to be much better, because the mother had to rebuke them when they were too interested in the generous bosom of Rosetta. I heard her say to the concierge, but not without some pride, things like: "I have to be careful, because Rosetta is ddonna ddonna and understand that these are also men. "
I lost sight of the "Rosetta" for a long time, I knew I was married and had a couple of children, that her husband had the same defect in the father, who could not keep their hands in place, which has had several breakdowns, which have removed their children, got divorced and she returned to live in his mother's house.
is in this period, inevitably, often meeting in the reception and she began to greet me with a "hello" that seemed to encapsulate all the suffering of at least twenty years of a life incredibly miserable and rough. A hello that looked like a helping hand in search of aid that I could not offer a hello that flickered an unstable equilibrium, dangerous and desperate.
When the Moon has good, Rosetta singing. The feel to the street, when traffic allows a bit 'of silence, or even from the backyard, his voice bouncing off the walls close. Biagio Antonacci sings, Ligabue and stuff exclusively Italian.
But when he wakes up on the wrong foot and the fuck are the outbursts that resounds with his mother outside.
The other day I met her in the lodge, I had stopped to see why the lock of the door is not good enough and, unfortunately, every condominium that he had passed his authoritative and useless opinion to express. Until we arrived Rosetta. A close look at it still makes me uneasy. Those eyes are expressionless as those of a shark, or the tension huge, noticeable, that runs under the skin, or those shots of the head a little 'how do lizards. His opinion was that it is the fault of "them". Those were all non-EU citizens indiscriminately, or as she calls them "bastards, bastards, thieves. You should all die. " Accompanying his words with an eloquent cross made by hand, like a pope's blessing.
I escaped on the run, while she, looking at two North Africans who were passing at that moment, whistled between his teeth: "Look at the faces, bastards."
But when he wakes up on the wrong foot and the fuck are the outbursts that resounds with his mother outside.
The other day I met her in the lodge, I had stopped to see why the lock of the door is not good enough and, unfortunately, every condominium that he had passed his authoritative and useless opinion to express. Until we arrived Rosetta. A close look at it still makes me uneasy. Those eyes are expressionless as those of a shark, or the tension huge, noticeable, that runs under the skin, or those shots of the head a little 'how do lizards. His opinion was that it is the fault of "them". Those were all non-EU citizens indiscriminately, or as she calls them "bastards, bastards, thieves. You should all die. " Accompanying his words with an eloquent cross made by hand, like a pope's blessing.
I escaped on the run, while she, looking at two North Africans who were passing at that moment, whistled between his teeth: "Look at the faces, bastards."
PS: Of course the business meeting I had blown it for today, postponed until next Tuesday.
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