I'm increasingly changing. Some say for the better while others do not share their own. I love the other, those "others". They give me hope.
I've always had, and I fear change.
I should not digress and go to the story, precisely because of the story, another story, it is.
Yesterday I was in Bologna.
A cold dog dressed in a light drizzle that occasionally soaked the clothes of those who, like me, they thought: "Come on! Mica does not rain?" and instead ....
I went out recently from a supermarket and surplus at a slow pace for one of those suburban streets that make Bologna even more adorable. A road, with a small platform in contact with the gardens: empty because of the cold.
come from the opposite direction I see a young woman with an envelope in his hand pushing a pram with a baby a few years drowned in a down jacket with hood. A little "Michelin" red could just to turn heads. And he turned his head to his brother on his right, a beautiful little boy about five years.
He had a life belt with a holster type Old West and holding a toy gun, drum, pointing straight against the brother and intimacy to these "old Altolia zeien stinker! Sssòccia! I wanted to hit with your frezza poisoned and I will bring all uzzido. Click! Click! Click!
Beautiful! But could you ever imagine a cowboy who speaks with a strong accent? And if that were true, could never cowboy to kill? Absolutely not, I think.
still raining and they say it will continue to rain all week.
Sssòccia! Cursed "Piozzi!
I continue walking and repeating many times the phrase of the young cowboy smile and smile again and thereby defeats the puzzosa
I went out recently from a supermarket and surplus at a slow pace for one of those suburban streets that make Bologna even more adorable. A road, with a small platform in contact with the gardens: empty because of the cold.
come from the opposite direction I see a young woman with an envelope in his hand pushing a pram with a baby a few years drowned in a down jacket with hood. A little "Michelin" red could just to turn heads. And he turned his head to his brother on his right, a beautiful little boy about five years.
He had a life belt with a holster type Old West and holding a toy gun, drum, pointing straight against the brother and intimacy to these "old Altolia zeien stinker! Sssòccia! I wanted to hit with your frezza poisoned and I will bring all uzzido. Click! Click! Click!
Beautiful! But could you ever imagine a cowboy who speaks with a strong accent? And if that were true, could never cowboy to kill? Absolutely not, I think.
still raining and they say it will continue to rain all week.
Sssòccia! Cursed "Piozzi!
I continue walking and repeating many times the phrase of the young cowboy smile and smile again and thereby defeats the puzzosa
NAUSEA
:-)
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