Per una certa impazienza che mi aveva agitato anche nel sonno, il giorno dell’Epifania mi sono alzato all’alba. Non vedevo l’alba, così, da una finestra, sulla terra, da almeno dieci anni. Ne avevo vista una, quattro anni fa, viaggiando in aereo, ma non è la stessa cosa. Mi è venuta voglia di scrivere, ma subito ho pensato che fosse una pessima idea. Perché era una voglia banale e, in un certo senso, accademica, da luogo comune.
Ne avevo la certezza per via del fatto che avevo i piedi freddi. Da quando ho letto Sciascia quote Voltaire's quip that to paint well you have to have your feet warm, every time I start writing I wear double socks, or before I run fast and hot footbath. But at dawn I went on to do the foot bath is not, so I began to imagine the different temperaments of the writers walk leaning on my bookshelf, and then the degrees contained in the shoes of those people consider wrong writers, perhaps because has yet invented a word term can distinguish one writer from a writer. Thus, for a hot little fingers from Aldo Busi, offset by a GF from the ankles but clever ice. Giuseppe Berto for a walk with smoking even if immersed in snow, I was wearing a PG by phalanxes boringly froze.
At this rate, as the narrator of Todo so Leonardo Sciascia, even I came to wonder if some writers said their pages really keep the best for himself, giving the readers only those written by foot warm or cool. But knowing the vanity of almost all media, I replied that often the distinction between hot and cold pages must be an affair that concerns only a few humble, and talented writers.
Walking harmless until noon, I learned that wearily Juventus-Parma would be played at 0:30. Finished in a few seconds the curses on the inconvenient time, I set the table while the family gathered for the usual lunch of the Epiphany. My mother as usual was not spared, putting on the plates: Cremonese
a strange sausage-shaped ball, cooked for three hours. Rolls, polenta, lentils with carrots, celery, onion. And then a few leaves of lettuce, some spirit to satisfy a vegetarian, and of course a bottle of red wine to be chosen: Chianti? Bonarda? Dolcetto d'Alba?
the third minute of the first time, no information about the result, I decided on the plan of escape. Four sheets tied together (the great advantage of having a mother who owns a home furnishings store) fell from the balcony on the third floor almost to the sidewalk.
the fifteenth, I simulated a severe headache, the need to lie down for a bit '.
I turned off the light in your room, down the blind the right to pass under the hand of the leopard, learned during his military service.
descending onto the earth's crust, I headed to the bar of the Chinese, the red one, on the corner. With renewed spirit of enterprise, the Chinese people have finally realized that it must rely to integrate better in football, so I was mildly surprised to see the bartender with the black and white scarf around his neck. When I noticed a half-open drawer behind the counter, from which colored stain to the cloth of all teams of A and B (except for Portsmouth) the skinny definitely surprise gave way to disenchantment.
Yet a waiter of the most talkative, Tau Yuanming, he allowed himself to me more of a confidence. Pats on the back. Beneaugurati statements like:
"I feel plofumo of Lethe. Vedlai that unlocks Amauli "
Or
" Pelco Del Neli has not even convened Voltaile? And Leonaldo Sciascia, again on the bench? "
Dear Tau, your optimism is misplaced objectively. In a few seconds the ninetieth, and Parma leads to four to one. In addition alleged that according to your striker is expected to score, is haunting the field as heavy as a cow, but with the greasy hair. Its disheartening that dramatic stillness reminds me of Elvis Presley, at the end of his career. Her feet are cold indeed.
Ne avevo la certezza per via del fatto che avevo i piedi freddi. Da quando ho letto Sciascia quote Voltaire's quip that to paint well you have to have your feet warm, every time I start writing I wear double socks, or before I run fast and hot footbath. But at dawn I went on to do the foot bath is not, so I began to imagine the different temperaments of the writers walk leaning on my bookshelf, and then the degrees contained in the shoes of those people consider wrong writers, perhaps because has yet invented a word term can distinguish one writer from a writer. Thus, for a hot little fingers from Aldo Busi, offset by a GF from the ankles but clever ice. Giuseppe Berto for a walk with smoking even if immersed in snow, I was wearing a PG by phalanxes boringly froze.
At this rate, as the narrator of Todo so Leonardo Sciascia, even I came to wonder if some writers said their pages really keep the best for himself, giving the readers only those written by foot warm or cool. But knowing the vanity of almost all media, I replied that often the distinction between hot and cold pages must be an affair that concerns only a few humble, and talented writers.
Walking harmless until noon, I learned that wearily Juventus-Parma would be played at 0:30. Finished in a few seconds the curses on the inconvenient time, I set the table while the family gathered for the usual lunch of the Epiphany. My mother as usual was not spared, putting on the plates: Cremonese
a strange sausage-shaped ball, cooked for three hours. Rolls, polenta, lentils with carrots, celery, onion. And then a few leaves of lettuce, some spirit to satisfy a vegetarian, and of course a bottle of red wine to be chosen: Chianti? Bonarda? Dolcetto d'Alba?
the third minute of the first time, no information about the result, I decided on the plan of escape. Four sheets tied together (the great advantage of having a mother who owns a home furnishings store) fell from the balcony on the third floor almost to the sidewalk.
the fifteenth, I simulated a severe headache, the need to lie down for a bit '.
I turned off the light in your room, down the blind the right to pass under the hand of the leopard, learned during his military service.
descending onto the earth's crust, I headed to the bar of the Chinese, the red one, on the corner. With renewed spirit of enterprise, the Chinese people have finally realized that it must rely to integrate better in football, so I was mildly surprised to see the bartender with the black and white scarf around his neck. When I noticed a half-open drawer behind the counter, from which colored stain to the cloth of all teams of A and B (except for Portsmouth) the skinny definitely surprise gave way to disenchantment.
Yet a waiter of the most talkative, Tau Yuanming, he allowed himself to me more of a confidence. Pats on the back. Beneaugurati statements like:
"I feel plofumo of Lethe. Vedlai that unlocks Amauli "
Or
" Pelco Del Neli has not even convened Voltaile? And Leonaldo Sciascia, again on the bench? "
Dear Tau, your optimism is misplaced objectively. In a few seconds the ninetieth, and Parma leads to four to one. In addition alleged that according to your striker is expected to score, is haunting the field as heavy as a cow, but with the greasy hair. Its disheartening that dramatic stillness reminds me of Elvis Presley, at the end of his career. Her feet are cold indeed.
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