Wedding Seating Chart Posters

Few people know this, but there is a very simple, effective and economical way to learn the fate of life of a couple.
If everyone would use to time the number of failed marriages would decrease significantly. The anti-torture kit is packaged in a cardboard box and costs about thirty euro. His name is "Compatibility". In theory it is a parlor game, in practice it is a lifesaver.
Too bad that few take seriously. Can be found in toy stores but would be more appropriate if you sell drugs, in addition to pregnancy testing. And then, yes, people begin to think carefully about the outcome.

I will not explain the rules, but I mention the active principle, in practice this is to associate the cards with the images to a concept drawn by lot. Everyone plays for himself, but must be in pairs. Example is extracted the word "desire". Each player will choose three pictures from his deck that he thinks are associated with the word "desire" (eg, tropical beach, villa, money). The winner is the pair associated to the word extracted from the same cards. Why is it called Compatibility, as it measures the compatibility of the couple.

said it seems a harmless pastime for winter evenings. It's actually a bomb capable of blowing bowls of peanuts and nerves, lounges and profanity.

One Sunday evening as many a friend's house, three engaged couples, chips, beer, chocolates.
"Boys do something different tonight, we play Compatibility, gave me the for birthday, seems to have fun. "
" Yes come on! "
And then you pull out the black box. Yes, relative to that of air disasters.
"Ok, to each his or her deck with pictures. Now pull out the word. Lords came out the word ... FEAR. Five minutes from now according to you to choose three images associated with the word "fear." After five minutes

... "A couple at a time showdown, we start by Angela and Ivo."
The trio of Angela is associated with the fear: the sea, child, elderly person.
"But honey, what cards you have chosen your pardon? The sea!?! Are you afraid of the sea? "
" Yes, treasure. I can not swim. "
" I still have not learned? And the swimming lessons? "
" No love gone, I tell you, but I will not be heard. "
" Good heavens! You know how much that cost me over? "
" Do not worry, I converted my subscription in anti-cellulite massage. "
" You were wrong because if I were to fall into the water one day, those bearings will come in handy! "
" Are you asshole! "
" Hei Hei! Maybe you talk about it later. Go ahead. "
" And the child? What do you mean? "
" What I'm afraid to get pregnant. "
" But if we take precautions? And then I think the world there are things far more serious ... "
" Ivo, sorry you could talk later? "
" Ok, but I want to know why you put the old man. Are you afraid of growing old? "
" No, I'm afraid your grandmother. "
" My grandmother! And you did!? "
" Every time I get at home tell me - I make you out - "
" I told you a thousand times that my grandmother is ill. "
" No, it's crazy. And dangerous. "
" BOYS, BOYS! Su is a game! Ivo force to find out your cards. "
Terna Ivo on fear: clock, Highway, ATM.
"Now that we explain it."
"Of course: watch for fear of being late to an appointment, highway for fear of being left without fuel, and cash for fear that I will be cloned."
"And you the courage to tell me that the world there are things far more serious? "
" To conceive a child should not scare anyone. "
" To me much less considering your last performance. "
" But you should not talk to you enter into the bathtub with armrests
"Ivo stop or to thee tonight .."
"JUST KIDS! It's just a game. Angela and Ivo: zero points. On we go "

The game continues and draws another card: SEDUCTION.
"Hmmmm. This tour we have fun. "
" Touch the first to Ernesto and Lucia. Ernesto Forza find out what your cards "
sports car, cash, pearl necklace.
"What does your pardon?"
"It is obvious: all the things they do hit on women, no? Cars, money, jewelry ... "
" I do not think I've paid attention to these things when we met. "
" Okay but you have to do with seduction? "
" mean?! "
" Come on, come on! Lucia discover your cards. "
Cross, priest, church.
"And no Lucy! Even while playing I usually bring out the shrine! "
Ernest dear, I entrust to seduce me into heaven, I pray and beseech the saints to give me this gift."
"Ah, here. So you make the sign of the cross before coming to bed. Really very seductive. "
" What do you mean? I do my duty as a woman with self-sacrifice and a spirit of charity, to love even in contravention to the dictates of the holy Roman Catholic Church. "
" Amen "
" Do not be absurd! "
" It's your school by nuns has just hurt you. "
" What school do you know that you can not hardly ever went. "
" Less evil. At least I enjoyed as a young man. "
" Lying to parents, repeat at least twice each class, you call it fun? I call it sin. "
" You call sin also pass the roll-on under the armpits. "
"So you do not sin by much."
"HEI HEI! Enough! Zero points for Ernesto and Lucia. "
The game proceeds in the massacre.

Third round, third card: FUTURE.
"Dora and Luke, it's up to you. Before Dora. "
Dora discovers his cards with a smile po'teso.
wedding dress, home, baby.
message quite clear. All eyes are planted on Luke swallows and widens the shirt collar.
"Oh boy, you saw the other day Big Brother? But it's crazy .. "
" Luke discover your cards. "
" Sure, sure. Ah! You know that my father became the new handheld? A gem, a true portent .. "
" LUKE DISCOVER YOUR CARDS! "
" O-ok. "
soccer ball, surfboard, motorcycle.
"And this would mean for you now?"
"Te-treasure, there is a misunderstanding, I had i-ca-sp-sp-understood sport!"
"Do not make fun! My mother is right. I do not ever marry. NEVER!
"Dora up a game, not is appropriate to make a Trag .. "
" Take your own business! What game and play! This is my life. MY LIFE! Ugly asshole. Pallone, surf and bike ... I'll show you them! BASTARD! "
The round ends with Angela and supporting Dora Lucia to the bathroom in tears.

"Yes, ok, Luke, but even you! I can understand that in your future, imagine a bike and a surfboard new ... but it could save you the ball. You could poke him to a child! "
" Damn, I've got even thought of that! But I also have in mind the World Cup this year ... "
" Embee, in fact. "
" But so come on, ask if Italy wins to get married. "
" Oh. Bravo. Angela I'm asking my grandmother just died. You know how ... I leave the house ... "
" That's why your grandmother wants to take him out. "
" I know that until the current step of confirmation is not talked about. Me from his mouth for the third time. Anyway, guys, how about if we change the game? "
" I would say yes. Now that the girls are proposing a return sweepers ... "
" SSSSSttttt! You idiot, you want to take a shot at Lucy! "
" Oops, sorry. "

Meanwhile in the bathroom
" Now go back to there, and smile. Pretend you nothing and you talk more. Make the best of a bad game and you'll see that eventually gives way. Men do not want to be pressed. "
" You're right Angela. Have faith, pray, pray, pray much and eventually it'll lead to the sacred altar "
" Yes. Y'know what? I bet that within a couple of years we will all have a wedding ring. "
" Yes! "" Yes! "" Yes! "
" And you know what else to say to you? Compatibility This sucks. Now let's go and propose an OPS sweepers ..! Sorry Lucy! "

The evening proceeds with a reassuring 'names, things, city \u200b\u200b". And the result of
Compatibility (zero for all) is thrown together with red and blue cards Lindor. For now ...

Cleaning A Really Old Camper Trailer

But you know that you love! Mica to go to look into the folds of life. I see that look at me in secret, pretending to photograph the view across the bay. But I've been watching me the courage to pose, here on this wall. Where my life begins. Why this photo will travel around the world. I despise. Do not pick my beauty. No, I do not speak of the interior. That I do not know. Escapes me. I can not hold it in your hands in the morning even when I lean out the window to be able to see the sea down the hill, hidden by the dense web of dirty buildings, and while I savor the first cigarette of the day, try not to think but to my life, my dreams, and deep down inside me. I read in a magazine: drop down into the cave of your soul, dig out the hidden dragon roar to life. I'll try, but when I'm bent in only pain, disappointment, dirt: in short, my life. And I can not find the thread that leads to myself. When the excitement over the limit that can tolerate, and that I can every day to move away, when the cigarette is ending, when I hear the whistle of coffee when I can back from this mess in which I'm afraid to come forward, vulgar gaze to my house and cry. Not every morning. Often. Because in this tiny apartment, carved into the presumption of calling it home, put together with pieces crooked, uneven, besieged by an order to give dignity to the four manic trinkets that speak to me, this junk is my story. And most of all my future.

E 'of my outer beauty that I am proud. What I launch into a future from which there mocking smile and you will feel envy and shame. Look at me. I'm not afraid to smile goal. In a moment I will. And I will lift up his eyes and realized that now I want thoughtful. It scares me. But I can make it. Authorize the head in a gesture of defiance to the world, in San Francisco that is behind me beyond the sea, and smile in this life that hides all the time. No. I have not been unlucky. It 'an excuse that I leave that to chanteuse intersection when I go to work. Whine bragging failures caused by circumstances. But I no, I proudly boast of being wrong all I could and that this insipid life, unnoticed, trivial, that slips through the shadows of the city, is the fruit of my freedom. And love. I never found always chasing the wrong people. So much so that now I wonder, in the fleeting moment in me an awareness beats soft and warm, if not I the one who failed to understand what love really is. Yet it is so clear when you see it on television. Go into one of those bars and you come out with happiness. I did. It seemed so simple. I have chosen. I do not have never made use. Everything I found was a bed to be remade. Bed linen to be washed. It was up to me. And every time a bitter taste that was born up, submerging the sense of burning flesh and complacent, and then rose like a wave gagliarda not drown, but cherish everything and wrap it and leave him with a bright patina first then gradually more and more opaque to become gray as fog. Here this is the color of my life: sepia. Like the photos fading artificially old to pretend. I am old. But inside, not outside, that men still chasing me. And your eyes. Turned off and the judges. You shall see. I decided today, when I picked up this insipid little man to convince him to come here me these photos, thanks to those whom my life will change. 'll Skip the next. Returning to town, I'll leave empty-handed. After I have returned to the royal dignity these shots. prints them with care. In the corner of the store where I work. Ask a favor. Release it. Then I'll put it in the best frame. And hang on the wall. And watching it every night and every morning, I will realize what I could become. And find that thread that maybe will take me away from here.

Jennifer Kydd Falcon Beach

When there's love You know that

you feel beautiful. More. You feel fine, elegant. If I lived in the last century you would have found it to be comfortable in the role of a French noblewoman, or a Russian baroness, or perhaps better, would you be my lady was an excellent English, even with generous servants. Walk quietly, looking up, haughty bearing of those who know and do not have to rely even need to prove it. Not dressing for sliced \u200b\u200bso fascinating: you know you do not need all you need simplicity, even if not sober, but rather refined. Not only that, but you understand very well, yesterday explained it to your friend in the cafeteria, a flashy clothes rather than hit the fancy of a man and stir the heart, it only grabs the genitals inspiring unworthy thoughts for him and for you. "I'd rather haughtily," you said the, "maybe a bit 'too much business in this environment, but more distinct that the vulgarity." And you certainly want to distinguish yourself. Work in six states, careful, indeed perfect, far beyond reach of where you stop and you care about others noticing. Maneuver so in a way that your successes are visible, without you to make them clear. Moves with knowing disregard a statistic close to the small internal mail, because you know that there are and will be curious to ask for further explanations, only to praise your initiative. We present meetings with data up to date and impress all the above information you should already have asked in the future. Ask other questions of which you already know the answers in front of their ignorance and suggest a possible solution, the right course, and earn their gratitude and esteem them. When you praise, mocks you: I can only blush. Smile. Sometimes a slight laugh and Argentina clashing between your lips just parted. Crossed his legs, turn around his eyes taking on a 'modest air that is ill-suited to your face. Raise your shoulders, close the collar of her blouse with a graceful gesture and speech changes. If you praise those who repeat his praise, not flee again and let you admire. You are severe: since six strict with yourself, demand, rightly, that all your colleagues are the same. Do not hurry the work bear, you are not inclined to excuse, rather than always looking for the dark side in the actions of others. And 'as if it believed it impossible that around your shining light will still exist some small patch of dark, everything is done against you, not just superficial. You're a woman: that is enough to condemn the men in a sort of retribution for all the harassment that women over the centuries has had to endure in the workplace. When the irritation is close to your face, then it's time: sky-blue and puffy clouds lurking in your eyes and hail lash anyone who dares cross the threshold of your office. Change even voice, you could not let you go to bad language, some unsuitable for a lady, with the same tone in which comments the last movie you saw. The neck becomes stiff you and all your femininity down shots in anger, as if all wounds, you think you've accumulated a lifetime of work, could be rehabilitated in a furious duel that pits your pride in the insensitivity fatua of others. "I am woman" think inside you in a flash nervous, "and do not want to understand, or rather, understand it too and do not give up. What ever happens? A woman, married, moreover, that works and produces much better than so many men? Whether prostrate professionally, that is denied information and its management is pruned if it does not pose any risk to the company. "This is what you read in the eyes of your colleagues and there is no reason to hate deeper. Insults aloud, perhaps focused more on who can not listen to your enemy. You know you have the excuse of reason, which nobody can deny you, and therefore exceed the limits of decency with delight, sure that nobody will get back to your place. However, you always have the excuse female hysteria: it is neither fair nor professional, but sometimes it is a convenient excuse, especially for them who think. I can not always find in a short time the road brings you to the serenity and then they are dark days for everyone. Talk jerky, frantic shake hands, spread papers on the desk again to rearrange them and divide them into different tasks. Remove and replace the glasses constantly, as if the concern that harbors inside could subside with the gestures of the body. Your face hardens, changing color as: eyes become thinner and closer to looking like two slits etched on the bias of a sentry on a watchtower. If I had not already stopped, and everything that you decide can not change, you turned to smoke with anger, just for the sake of deforming your image and attract even more attention on you.
not I've never seen you cry, is not strong. Your sublimated resentment slowly. Often you just blow off steam with someone of your confessors, which changes often, giving preference to new arrivals, especially if younger than you. With them you can play the double card of the woman of experience and caring mother. They're listening, you often fall in love: certainly not at the lowest possible role of a lover, but rising on the pedestal of the ideal woman or her sister's choice. They are there, with tears in his eyes, Rosi from this caste passion, look at you while you talk to them about this and that and smile and your face lights up. So, by their silence, the admiration that fills the entire room, is purified and regains your eyes clear. They smile with you, happy have regained their goddess and that it contributed to their loving sacrifice, to pacify. When calm was restored, you look around, rearranges her hair with one hand and you feel up to the top in those regions of the sky where the sun shines again, to resume your seat. It certainly can not say that sow discord or obstructing their colleagues. Of course, do not waste anyone your contempt: Your first feeling is doubt and guilty of such practice deserves a fierce hatred. You love to talk softly at meetings, as a student of the last bench, pointing out errors and transgressions of the speakers, especially those who are less familiar with you. Do not have a point. Take note, never forget the wounds that you feel you have received from colleagues and, as a hard drive of infinite capacity, all registers in the right place for you-there is no command that erases the memories-as if I could then ergerti, just you, a final decision on the Executioner lives of everyone. If colleagues do not save your hate-when-you think they deserve it, you know amiably entertain clients, as befits a lady, and certain meetings, which were entrusted to your care, take longer fluffy tone of a friendly between the and is not rigid courtesy of work.
not have kids now and do not want: you do it for them. "How could I be a good mother, how could I follow a child in the right way," comments often with her friends, "if you work every night forces me to come home late and often if I have to dine out? How could I stop working to take care of him? I can never have enough money for the necessary, and not sure I would see my son badly dressed or go to bad companies. I prefer a child less, but more of a sweater, and since children have not arrived before, now forget it. "Your husband agrees. It 's a famous surgeon. You love her figure, so austere and imposing , oozes charisma from every pore. E 'tall, slightly graying, the newly burnished skin and eyes serious. does not smile often, and commands respect rather than fear. He gestures slow, precise. Browse the pages of a book as if they were working open-heart surgery. This you have always been impressed with him are his hands long fingers and palms wide and soft as cotton balls of clouds can pat gently and at the same time they know affect rapid and precise in order to restore life. Each will turn his gaze of tenderness when she returns tired in the evening, the warmth that you know him without making him want to weigh your tiredness. Want to be a wife worthy of him, even for high points in this work. You know the challenge, even before that with your rivals, it is with your sex: for this you will come. Sometimes you irritate women, because they insist on flying low, like hens, while you have the courage of the eagle. Annoys you know who are happy, considering what a burden to you has a great sense. Look detached sympathy with your colleagues who speak of child, dolls, influences. Loves children, provided they remain distant. You say you made essertene a reason and you will look thin veil of melancholy, like a play that you wanted to just go and see, but you missed due to unavoidable commitments.
troubles you sometimes think the stronger your life: you feel it slip like a boat on a river current. Can you imagine broad, muddy, confused by the banks of the bush, like what you saw last year in Brazil during the holidays. You know that all this tranquility hides, sooner or later, a sudden fall: that theme is not the danger, but hate the idea that may catch you unprepared. Then the curtain and looked out the glass of your country villa, you hold the silk nightgown to drive away the thrill you feel more inside than outside. The leaves of the trees are dying in the wind and are lying on the grass of your garden. The fixed altered, you feel that something is leaking inside you: a kind of honey and would like to get rid of acid. Your husband approaches you, shakes you by the shoulders, rest a kiss on her hair. Silent. I wonder what he thinks? I wonder if he shares your same indecision, if he tries to slip beneath the calm surface of the river, or if you want to land somewhere on the shore? I wonder if the river ever thinks or imagines life in so different from yours? "I wonder if he lives, you ask yourself," and if I live with him. " The pulsating light in the sky is gray. You who know what you want, or think you know, we collected and indicating that the leaves accumulate on the lawn like a yellow carpet, you say: "We'll take them off the grass or dulls everything."

1996 Dutchman Pop Up Camper L

gaze of Lazarus Passion and emotion

It 's like when you play hide and seek as children. You hide. You get small. And wait. And there is none. At first you are happy. You rejoice. You were smart. You will not ever. Then you worry. Frighten you. And then you see. Do not try. We have never tried. Go out and find out what they're playing something else. They've also gone. And you're nothing. Forgotten. Do not even look. It was there that I understood. A sign for all my life. Even at the margins. Because there is no dignity. Even recently, the last still has meaning, it gets respect. If anything, next to last. Never mentioned. Just like that A lapping, pale and washed out in the blind field, in the trash. And so I lived. A predestined? Maybe. Maybe by that time I have forced the hand of fate. I dived there instead of trying to escape. The meeting ran, screaming, sword drawn. I did not want to end up like a coward, killed by a blow to the back. Remorse? I do not know. I dare not even question me for fear of not knowing the answer. Whatever is wrong. Error perfect. O the horror? How this chair here, abandoned on the edge of a sidewalk, without a specific purpose. Who knows, maybe yes, is the home of someone more desperate than me. Why is my misery is not external. No, indeed. I made a career: I was so insignificant that I made jelly to slip between the cracks of the system. To expand my weakness to exploit my transparent in order to climb. And suddenly appear in places no one would have believed. And 'I feel empty inside. And 'when I close the my door, which fell back into that hole: I go back into the narrow gorge in which they are gone forever, in that world where no one will ever find me. Why to exit from the tomb, to return to life, we need a voice that calls your name, your name that screams, loud, tell you "come out" and you would expect there with open arms. And this voice I have not heard yet. There is, yes, somewhere there? I can not imagine that many will cheat with such senseless violence. Because you see, the faces saved, to catch the eye called. I see them walking. Indeed, slipping unnoticed into the crowd. Until the day will come, yes, I know, I know that I will. There will come a day when eyes will look for me, will stay on me, not by accident, but by the will. And he will recall.

A Labeled Viking Longboat

Passion is a beast that is easily controlled, if only for pride, no feeling.

With the passion you play, the pat in the queue at the lights when you have fun and smile inside to fix the machines where an attractive girl accepts and returns the challenge of your eyes. Both happy that everything will fade after a few seconds, when the red of passion will fade in the green traffic light. Perhaps the chase, playing more with yourself, and she seems to accept until an (im) provident driver will stand in the way and we'll reopen the doors of your universe. Undermines the sense you: like a wind, rising to become gentle storm falls upon you just as happy to go and meet you down and pretentious like a glove. Because it relies on your pride.

happened to you: just when you thought it could never happen: you're in love with another woman. But it's not a question of meat, those who enter the eyes, and ardor, grease, slide down over between the stomach and legs to stop shaking. No, this will not stop the heart, such as the white feather in Forrest Gump, and it is not wanted to leave on. He stands there, almost hidden, so, with eyes wide against you, amazed and dreamy, like a child's cold and you can repair itself upon concerned only whether you want to drive away in the heart of winter. And how do you send him away, in the cold? In the storm? How easy to create alibis when you do not want to face reality?

What will you do? You look lost on him and can not find a solution. There is only one solution: it is precisely that which exclude from the outset. Why do you think you have the courage.

E 'success case: how could he otherwise?

You did not expect: so you imbolsito in your security in your snooty sure not to make mistakes, let alone to pave the way for weaknesses that nestling in your life could call into question the morality of the castle you've built around. Yet it happened: a grain of sand into gear, a concession to vanity, or perhaps just neglect, and the wind found the crack through which creep. Like a snake in the cracks of the wall. A joke

dropped perhaps more troublesome to fill a vacuum in order to communicate important news "next week in Florence work ". "Then the dinner invitation." A shiver. You let things fall, but these were left standing. You had the impression that she insisted and a first smile than usual, not so serene, but close to victory, your lips slightly bent. Do not you have done to get you back. Why? For vanity? For the desire to feel wanted, you, right now you feel your body gently discard not under the blows of an age that beat it, you can not think of this when the forty years are still a distant frontier, but for the light tapping labor, as well as those activities that you feel your way, you work the abdomen and the lungs, depositing the first one to escape the latter. You want then? For what? For whom? What was that? What made you lower your guard that you are so proud? Perhaps a greater pride? The demand to rebuild? To be important for someone else, rather, let's face clearly, for another woman?

is yes, I realize that taking action, almost imperceptible, the predecessor to the annoyance of your smile, a hint of irony tolerant, how to ward-who: with me? From you? - Suspicion. Vanity knows how to choose roads inaccessible and difficult to pierce the soul and feelings emerge cloaked in innocuous: it is from that spot forever imprinted deep in the interior, which drives you, like every other man, looking statement. Moreover the statement. A continuous, unstoppable journey that always needs new consensus, because that is not enough renewed. That 's what I thought I saw? Hunting? Trivial! Precisely because of this desire! Being a new god for someone?

Of course, since then something has changed. You waited for the day of departure with the same anxiety with which a child waiting for Christmas morning. In the car were playing with the radio. Without autogrill, the crumbs of the sandwich still on the beard, the breath disturbed by the smell of smoke that flooded the room, you had a hesitation. Did you stop with the phone in hand, the number already made up on the display, the finger ready to press the button. What did you see? Whatever it was, was not stronger than your agitation. You have pressed, the call has gone, she said. A little 'cold to be honest, almost detached. You had the impression that they had repented of what I had said just days before. Were you afraid, not so much that he lost something that had not yet, because you have wasted your safety in a dream that had no roots. You're worried more for your pride for your peace of mind. Did you watch on your drag and derided vanity thrown in middle of the square, humiliated, mocked. Were you afraid.

His voice is rectified, smoothed, maybe it was just your same voltage, the effort of building a time unsuitable. You have combined for the next night. Another day of waiting. It 'been there, you start to create you an excuse to trick you with innocence and simplicity of a dinner with a client, a claim also denied. Inverse sign of anxiety you have then attacked forcing you to sit. A thought that pounding has begun to fight you have even taken away the desire to eat. You went to the yarn in your hotel room and you've thrown on the bed, the television on, pretending to browse books and working notes, as if to prepare for the next day. The evening, which fell with a crash. A hand shakes his hair. The other, which closes the door of the room. The sky Strina color: burns and bleeds at the same time. Like you. A light wind carries away your honor. It takes so little: you'd have thought?

You took the car, turned on the radio before you even start, and everything has changed speed. The road has flown away to the parking lot where you would have encountered. The music is more galley of the books I do not know if I deliberately chose the voice of Michael Pfeiffer, or if it was all a coincidence, but while he waits, sitting in the car, even frightened, looking at every car that I was joined to recognize her, that My Funny Valentine has confused you even more ideas to the point that you have come to rely on and leave them by heart, which often does not know where it goes. Finally she has arrived.

smiles. There she dates. Stay away. Hop on his car. Begin to speak slow, detached and professional. You do not know what you want. Even she probably. Arrived. Parking. Two steps. The restaurant. Order. Talk about events on the margins, then narrows the circle: your life, life, memories, past, present. The voice has changed its tune. Outputs. It 's still early. It takes two steps to the streets of downtown. The temperature is soft. She'll walk around, you would almost want to take her arm. Hold on. Would she were to do so. He does not. Do you mind. Laugh. Takes you back to the car. Had first announced a gift, nothing personal, just a book which he had already spoken and that is somehow related to its past events. From him. Salute you. She leans over and kisses on both cheeks. "We'll see?" You ask. "If she likes," outlines how to defend yourself and add, "I'll be here again in a fortnight, if it so wishes and is free to call me." "Without a doubt," and instead answered the question already beginning to bite.

E 'already over. Yet that moment in the dark, illuminated by the sign of cutting of the hotel, while you stay close, we left a deep wound. Like in the movies you wanted to stop his movement. Plan too lean forward and gently kiss her. Frozen moment when the eyes watching, questioning and seeing each other in anguish and desire, but again not feeling strong, sensual, when an infinite tenderness. Here, that moment that can only happen once between a man and a woman, because then everything will be different, regardless of the direction that the story will take. That 's what desires? Living a scene that you were stolen in the past? Being the star of a new romance? I do not even know you: you are fascinated by the sequence of frames. And tell me: what would happen next? Do not you admit that you can think of. Love today is the retail market and you do not want to buy. The sweetness is more cruel mistress of the cowardly passion: it lets go when the shake in the morning, the first does not bite either, slipping inside. You were not ever happened. Turn it on, is the kind that shakes you boast and to silence, to be able to turn his eyes, sometimes with a second delay, so that the image you left him, not for long though. But now lead role in the Tuscan night, rises along the highway slopes and raw buckets and return to the hotel. Listening to music that haunts: the choice you have this time. The same voice that still sings the same Michelle Pfiffer My funny Valentine: the same yearning, not fact: different. Deep red and noisy. And you do not know how to turn off the melody so you can not cut a story that is not that warm yet dawn as if it were noon. The guilt you soaks in, trying to drown the sprouts with a cold river of excuses. In fact such things as a child that the meeting be repeated, that this little love grow. Sleep surprises you like a thief, more pity for her than for your choice. But you can still choose now?

Implantation Bleeding With Piece Oftissue

Folded

I would have been me. I would have killed me. At least we were finished and he does not speak any more. But no. Not only it was not me, nor know anything about what happened. It is not enough. I do not believe. We are convinced. And I can not change his mind. Because every word, every gesture, every color they fit him in their castle. And all of them confirmed their devastating situation. I do not know why. Someone at the beginning had this idea. And he is in love to the point of becoming a prisoner. More. E 'became him. It is insinuated he owns it. And then nothing will ever change his mind. And the bad impression, you know, are taken. Grow faster because the wind fed by warm and quiet lives in all of us. I do not know what to call it, I do not think envy. What then? My miserable job? Snip of my life I was trying to make it less Segalin each dawn? And that turns off to sleep, sometimes flat, some deep, most of the time-sensitive and sweaty, every holy night? It is not envy. And 'that wants to hurt, not to believe. E 'lack of confidence in man. because everyone always feels a victim. And never executioner. Curious, what we call most of the others is precisely what that unless we are willing to offer: whether it's patience, and piety, and understanding. I read somewhere that more than in giving charity is to understand. How true. But even atrocious. Because just as the love fades nell'elemosina, poisons insight into the scandal. Underlie good faith claim to remove the acid. I've heard many. No one dared acknowledge. But it should be! Rather boasted mercy, claiming to soften the message with the falsity of such expressions as "poor man" "is" "but you think that true ..". And they enjoyed their ability to conceal this. And so, she slipped away too dignity. And I started to curse me for not having committed the crime. Why, then yes I would have regained their respect. I'd climbed into the chair, I explained and claimed and asserted. And in this assertion of my freedom, the complaint would be kind of society. Then I would have pledged their piety. Maybe even more. Their admiration. I would be dropped in the areas television stations. The world would be mine. I regret the cowardice of honesty. Why has paid me with expulsion from life. And there was nothing more than folded, put away, crawl into a drawer of existence, where only the naphthalene may protect against moths and torment. A forgotten fact of leaks, faces downcast, changes in the shadows. And I can not even break the boundaries of this country because the survey will not let me. As if they had already torn it all. Quartered every detail. How would do me. I have already confessed. But the crime that I threw out is not what interests them. Neither the people who hates to see others in misery trying to hide themselves. There are no longer the pushovers of the past: what people want are the big winners to admire them and envy them, collecting them into a pure hatred, with no limits, or the great sinners, to despise and rise amman riparmio without its mercy and thus proving larger than those who judge. And I'm here, waiting for death, which has already devastated the physical end to penetrate the soul and turn it off altogether. Unless you find, somewhere, in some eyes, a light that talk of a ransom that can not say give me the honor, but at least my self-respect.

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two of us and a daiquiri

Who would have thought? Meet you here after all these years? Undecided if we pretend not to recognize or pretend to have an interest, almost joy, we decided to pretend to want a drink together. Daiquiri. Daiquiri Indeed, as they say here with shameless ostentation, just because the villas of bright colors that studded Key West there is one belonged to Hemingway. The body melts when the pain of living is alleviated only by what can be inflated, solid, liquid or gas that is. I see that my conviction should be enriched with other interpretations, that if removal of the fault, the liability approach, distinguishing excess of viciousness from the first second, for which only the full awareness and deliberate consent have value. Yet I still remember the last time I saw you, not knowing what would be the last, because I painted with more emphasis, more poetry, with pastel because it sounds good in imprimesse my mind. We loved each other. Or rather, there was a time when we loved each other. In our own way. Should I ask if you loved me, but I know who meets a demand in the mirror your personal history.

We were young? You always say. E 'as an excuse to avoid suffering by closing old wounds that still fester. remember every square inch of the way in which our history has rebounded, and for some reason I can not see them except in the rain, or still a gray winter sky. The colors are off, do not deny things, but covering them with soot. Which I do not know if I'm in my memory or in our events of the past. I remember with glossy cruelty your face when we went to the vet to take your cat, which was to support a routine operation to make it faded, and instead you showed him only his cold dead body, saying "there was a problem."

I remember being overwhelmed by feelings and sharp contrasting red, fear, shame, passion purple, such as pain, fatigue, irritation, almost brown in the hope of being able to wrap a hug that your suffering and dissolve into me releasing sweetness and lightness. Scoppiasti to cry, repeating his name and at the end, contained in a moment of weakness, you sought refuge in my arms, but hold, as more intimidated by yourself that I have, however, that I felt so much pleasure that I could not take advantage of the situation. The awkwardness of the young age is sometimes a defense that life stands to avoid devastating consequences.

Then you slipped away. I did not suffer. You were already behind other stories, other griefs. I went toward that path and solar brezzolato that would have been my life. With another woman. I loved until the day he asked me on behalf of the promise that I had extorted: leave that she was the first to go. I can not tell you about those years, so many seem to be just a stroke of a pen on the page of a daily agenda. Because when you love is never enough time, neither height nor depth, nor the length.

So now I must wait, the time to reunite with her, without haste, without pain, left in a will that is not mine. Do not kill him this time, the live: of course remembering, of course delving into the emotions of the past, but with the certainty that I can not let me live, it would be wrong.

And if I am here today in a way, to honor his memory, not to celebrate a melancholy desire or worse in the past.

That struck me to see you here, is as if time riavvolgesse on himself, without asking me to swallow the events of the past, or worse, put them back on stage pathetically like an old band back together to please herself. It 's like a hidden message that refers to the way the events have already occurred and that I had not understood, a gift to give me a second chance to understand.

I put my hands on: I do not feel anything for you, if not the friendship that tie in diluted common memories, though faded and dissolved over the years that followed. Maybe we do not remember even the same colors, or its, or word endings. Yet I am glad to see you.

daiquiri drown in my pain? No. confirm. I do not feel the pain of living. Maybe you, maybe that I read in your eyes. Perhaps there was a time, just after, when I needed physicality to suffocate, to give meaning to put in order: instead of throwing myself on the agenda, I started to eat. It happens. But you? What need did you have? What color is your pain? If there? Or your joy? You will have time to tell until the end. I am the man who listens. Sipping you drink.

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is not out of anger or despair. No. There is no revenge in what I do. I do not know who to direct it. Not that my life has always run away serene and mild. I'm not saying that. But I can not complain, great suffering have not crossed my horizons. I have not experienced intense pain, the ones that shake the soul, the ones I saw in the eyes of some friends, then friends, too rich and noble word to describe the knowledge that I flowed around. I had no friends here. I did not know what friendship meant, because I was not allowed to suffer. not have done it for cruelty, far from it. Did not think that me and my happiness, I am sure of this. Have not found that depriving them of the suffering, I was being deprived of life itself. do not blame him, I think, if anything, I could only recognize an excess of love, but love crude, superficial, deep as it may have been imperfect. I can not explain: As I have written that the love that I was facing is defined as deep and shallow at the same time? I can not find the exact words, because it is actually true: deep red, like a saxophone sound that surrounds a dense, smoky atmosphere, but not dirty and greasy, so intense, breathtaking, intense up to oppression, greedy ; surface, light green, bright as a clarinet, a bit 'out of tune, trilling without rhythm, oversized, more for pleasure than for him to agree to the symphony. I do not understand how it could have happened, but now that, while walk on this beach seems endless, deserted to the low light of dawn, now that the first order not to put my thoughts, I always kept everyone in their folded and scented drawer, but the memories that I chased I like swarms of bees and they escaped, to protect what I wanted to tell me now that I reflect with logic and method, now that I analyze, separating the emotions from their meaning, now that I understand what this love was in fact as it has changed my life, who has actually been addressed, now I want to cry, and keep walking.

I have only known the mediocrity here. I did not know a real love. They did not like me, but they themselves in me. They do not represent a projection of their love, a subject that reflected that sense, evidently unsatisfied until that point, a deep love. They did not try me, but they themselves, in the reflection of my life, my life in the mirror that made them. They did not want to suffer the pain and I have stolen. They did not want misery and I was deprived of my happiness. Did not seek a daughter, wanted a natural extension to their selfishness, which, paradoxically, converged and coagulated in quell'esserino misuscolo and helpless that I was.

I am not entirely honest to say that, even at the very thought. I could never accuse them without having been heard. But I can not go back. Not I want to. I do not want to listen to their defense, it could be a failure. Not for them for me. I could not bear to hear confirmed by their words, their eyes, their gestures, my most harrowing suspicions. I just have to walk without looking back, not expecting anything until I find the hope here on the sand, somehow, some gesture, some object, and realize that yes, here's a new beginning .

Yes, I can start over and maybe then I can also go back. Yes, I know I'm doing them wrong, I'm making them suffer, perhaps a pain that have not yet tried. Yes, I know, and I know that I'm trying for the first time this pain, now light and distant, like a siren in the distance like a ship on the horizon, but which moves forward and expands and becomes more acute, pale purple, as the cutting edge of a suppurating: I have no fear, even appearance. Yes, the look because that is what I need, we need to get out of the fiction of a seemingly perfect life, and well off, dull, faded, warm, fuzzy, like a drawing done in chalk on the pavement, which is slowly Rain washed away by a cheerful and bright.

Yes, I can return one day, when I arrived at the bottom of my way and I find that I do not know myself yet and I'm afraid to know when I'll be put to the test and I hardened my suffering, come back and love like I never loved.

Because then I open my arms and squeeze them all in a new and true love.

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This is my life that I've never ... The man who put

But as he thought that I would react? What did he expect? Always expects too much from me! Claims, and in return what I offer? All that is yours is mine. He says. Yes, but in the meantime I can not do anything without asking permission. And without realizing it most of all. Because he does not attacks you, never gets angry. He looks at you with those eyes lit up, sideways, with a weak smile and sad, but not desperate. And this is enough to make me fit in as twisted ribbons and hair color. I feel the smell of shame and then the anger, woven so deep pride that makes no distinction from guilt. And without either of them really belongs to me. And 'he who causes the fault with his gentleness, with his mercy. For if you forgive because there was error. And I do not want to lose her. Why did not I masi wrong. What if I did not respond to your requests? Starmene good every day. Work. Relentlessly. Unabated. Without happiness. I am done with: do everything for others. They are generous. Do not ask. I do. I start to serve. I sacrifice myself. I hide my dreams to myself. And they are sensitive. I understand what others feel. I feel it inside me, on the skin, penetrating as an ointment. Burns. I see those faces, the look that tries to hide, while betraying annoyance. I see those light movements of the shoulders, the angle that the body does with the light of sections cut their thoughts. And I understand that my generosity is once again wasted. I never wanted anything for me, by anyone. I gave to all without limit and without reserve. Especially him. I obeyed. With great difficulty. Why cancel yourself requires discipline, which combines search in vain for a road, is aligned, allowing ... And understand that there is no alternative. So, grudgingly, deny, deny everything, always deny, deny themselves. With hope, always denied, of discovering a treasure. But there is nothing in this at all, with nothing left when the move will have removed all dry. There is no sense, especially. Neither taste. Yet I do. Not to see that his eyes at night, resting up for loving me. How much do you hate her love! Love me not ... I want to change. The claims. I want to imprison. 's not enough to have already made me an obedient servant? I'm here from the first hour. What do you want? hate his mercy. I hate the sweetness that pours out of me. E 'torture. A challenge. And how much I hate my hate. I fight. I try to drown it was, waving his life, taking away depth: the depth of wounds and prevents me to see clearly which side of the fence I am. Because I know where they are, but do not always see it. I'm alright. I'm on the duty performed. I've always been here with you, I told him. I have always obeyed. And what do you do? Why does this wicked, who still dare to call my brother, returned. ... You know the calculation for you, too, for no other reason, not sense justice .... You know where he was, after having squandered all, was the hunger ... and I think back to your love? You're a fool and a dreamer!

Repentance? Do not tell me that you believe! And keep your head on my shoulder like that, it irritates me that your calmness. Especially today when the only penalty would be meaningless. Do not say revenge, which I know you is not involved, but at least they are correct. You who proclaim the right ... why not apply this justice? Why not paid? Why do you soften? What love is this that does not provide for revenge? He babbles. Search for comfort. And what do you do?

Without even call me, tell me .. without even involve me in your mercy .. without even enhance, alongside you in this exaggerated gesture of forgiveness, so that at least I would have shared the elegant nobility, prestige, means to me, for my sense of justice, without any of this ... do you party?

But what do you think you prove? Even if he laughs, you have deceived twice. No, they hit me. He has cheated me twice. I went forward. I was the real target. And you've left him to do. If you enjoyed it and now returns as a hero, without even ...

No, do not talk of love, is something else. You have not already reserved a bit for me. And I gave you everything. I did everything you asked me, always. Without saying a word. I bowed my head and obeyed. Duty. You're pushing hatred. Everything has a limit.

Yes, so I told him. And I turned my back. does not even have made a gesture to detain me. Not a word. I saw him behind me, so I saw it even if we turn our gaze: With your arms slightly open, the wind stirred her hair, like an ugly picture.

And those eyes, that I never could bear that spat sad sober and clean.

sensed the emergence of a tear. And that I could not forgive him. Because I knew that was true. I have not turned around. I'm gone.

You made too big father, this time. I do not deserve

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If they only knew. Instead they look at you sideways. They pretend to ignore me. They are not even capable of. I know what it is indifference, that raw, acidic, which will penetrate to the bone as a cold, damp fog. It leaves you alone. Tied only to your despair as an anchor that keeps you afloat thanks to the rancor. Live for revenge. Here, however, is a joke to see these tourists who slip appalled by my actions lenses, which they take for tired and mad, pretending disinterest, but rather are a rosi unhealthy curiosity. Now I can only love them for this because this is my job now, my way of expiation. I am the man who brings order. In everything. Rassetto my bench every night. Collected the cards fall from the pockets of travelers that go dark on the bus to go home, and dreams of those who start imagining a better life. They knew that what they yearn for oxygen fell as here, the burning grease and asphalt apron, do not smile put her face to the window. Not because I do not think about the future can change. No. And their dreams are so trivial, sloppy, slow, do not ever reach them. Word of Firmino. Before them because I have suffered this disappointment. I ran away, do not chase success, I chased the serenity, freedom from crime. I chased the pardon, which the state had given me, but the people do not. None. How could they forgive my crime? A mistake that had killed dozens of people. A small error measured in 28 mm. The distance that separated them between two buttons. An exchange rail. The deafening sound of the crash is still my ears much hatred that followed. The first was mine for them absurdity of my guilt to blast their death as a salvation. Their nails, I dry but alive, to bring to life, but you could call it life ', the sign marked on the skin right into the soul. How I wanted to be in their place! I did not understand. Then came the hatred of parents: do not spare even a drop in donarmelo. I understood them. I could not reciprocate. I did maybe I would forgive them. Instead I stayed there, in the process, head down. I was looking for a sign, a trace, although small, to make sense. Then came the mutual hatred to people of my country: they had not done wrong than to be born there. But it was too big for me to forgive him. I gave it back, that bitterness, cold, dry, purple, almost rational, because I felt betrayed. And fled. By train. Funny is not it? How to dodge a killer's fate relies on the gun. The Executioner and his gallows. It was when I came here that I understood. There was a road. It was a meeting I can not say that I surrendered the view. Not because I had lost. Why had not I ever had. More than blindness had myopia: I did not see farther than me, the surface of what was important for me. And he showed me what was behind it, was like turning the paper, turn the glove. Draw his sword. Suddenly I saw everything darker, because the truth must be sought. Only then will you give. He knew the root, the formula, the trick. And I realized that my task was to restore the order that my crime had been smashed. I had to reverse the entropy. Restore peace in the hearts of all, no choices. As no decisions had killed one hundred fifty-three people that unfortunate night.

If they only knew. Perhaps instead of slipping away, strutting and distracted me worth at least a look of hatred. What I know to reciprocate and subtracted them, to deny the taste of revenge, of parts. This is also tidy.

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Two tracks in the sand

Two tracks in the sand. Feet. Two parallel tracks. On the sand of a Caribbean beach. Dawn. Parallel. And in tune. Same frequency, the same step: right foot, left foot. Holding hands. Naturally. And walking slowly. In the first Caribbean only. In silence. Overlooking the sea. They look in his eyes. Think. Sigh. In their past. Their future. Always together. Statement that can be articulated at all times. A woman and a man. Sure. One foot is smaller than the other. The age? The sand does not reveal this secret. View the sea and every wave, every shade of green reminds them of a day of their life together: past or future. The joys and pains. Yes Why a strong love is a love that has suffered. It is in the fire that purifies the gold. So love. Not have been so close and do not vibrate, their steps, with the same frequency if they did not hurt each other. Several times. Often, almost always without malice. On rare occasions for evil. Vendetta. Revenge. Trivial jolt ego. More love than you know how deeply hurt. When you want you want. Hit hard. Profound. There, the wound that never heals, which is always swollen and infected. You'll be sorry: he, just maybe, you, maybe after a while '. But you'll be sorry. If you love really means. And love drinking this pain and purifies it.

Two parallel tracks: love does not admit of delay. Expected. We help each other. Continuously. Sometimes with more sweetness with acidity of a bar, which makes the wound bleed. It hurts. But care. The love and care. Hands of a healer. Hands of the king. Queen. Together. Looking ahead. They walk and look ahead. Not to deny the past. They could not: it is their treasure. But because love is creation, generation continues, and future. E 'eternity. They look at the sea that is both hope and dismay. Love can be a storm, but most often it is the harbor, is cool and the breeze, a slight glint of the sun is up so subdued and shy. E 'effort. Love is certainty. One: together. Everything else changes, swings, falls, rears, scuff. Everything flows. But collection remains. Always. It would not be love.

I look at the footprints left at dawn, could be our own. They are not. So I saved the pride. So that would leave the same. But love is not exclusive. That is all. Just want it. In two. Love is more action than emotion. Indeed. First, you will. Steeped with emotion, I agree, as a biscuit covered with chocolate. Without cookie slip away, to disperse.

Two tracks. Parallel.

The only sign of life fused together.

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In-The Persian

After a long pause, I'm back with another ex-emplare caught by aquarium staff of a friend of mine. I say "aquarium" is not by chance that I've seen ranked as the "perch".
And I tell you.
My friend, I will call Stefi, at the time had passed for some thirty '. And he was single, but was always well met by the study, culture, work and a good career in the bank. He had some history, but without much luck. His free time is spent among books, friends, exhibitions and cultural events. It seemed so happy. Until it was transferred to Rome.
took home with a colleague, turned all the museums and galleries in the city and enrolled at the gym. But after a while, 'he began to suffer from a terrible loneliness. Not far from friends and family, Stefi felt the whole weight of being single. It opened the hunting season. Indeed, fisheries, because he collected a number of mullet, scorpion fish, eels and shellfish. Discard
here, get there, pull down and spring up ... after about a year of desperate search for the only animal that managed to keep his side was Aristide, security guard, met at the supermarket, which is open even at night.
"Wow, then it is true that in big cities, the supermarket is the best place to pick up?"
"Verissimo. From eight onwards there is a coming and going crazy single running for hours with empty carts. Every now and then shove something cool, so just to see. "
" What's that in his c'aveva? "
" A pack of toilet paper. "
"Ah, very cool."

But every time I asked her to phone for this new love, Stephen was more evasive. Until one day I said: "Stephen, I have the impression that something is wrong with that Aristide, or am I wrong? "
" Well ... no. You are not wrong. It is he, you know, is ... "
What's this?
" Well, not quite the person you can imagine. "
" What does it mean? A gangster, a grandefratellino a Papaboy? "
" Worse. "
" Nothing less! "
" He is in fifth grade, is six years younger than me, do not know Italian, he speaks only Roman, has eight tattoos one of Pamela Anderson, has three piercings in a nail, not a penny, still lives with her and do not have a car. And bring a sweater in his pants. "
" Ah. No more? "
"Yes, when it's cold wear the pants in my socks."
"Ouch. Stefi Sorry, but if you do not like, because we're together? "
" Why is the only one I could find. And to be alone because I'd had enough. What should I do? I started late and now I take what's left. "
" My mother said something similar when he withdrew from the market with that crap of perch. "
" Eh. More or less. "
we're good.


Stefi After two months he could not get over the awkwardness of Aristide and the spring.
He stayed there very badly. Also, that Stephen had become his chauffeur, always paid to the cinema and the restaurant and made a lot of nice gifts. Aristide pleaded with her to get back together, promising that he would become a better person. Stefi if the shooting of a diabolical pact to compromise the Persian would be cultured.
"Good heavens, Stefi! He said he wanted to become a new person, not someone else! "
" I'm tired of a clandestine relationship and can not submit around with a case. Enough for me to learn a little grammar, a minimum of history, and just a touch of art and geography. It is enough. "
" Enough? "
" Look I'm not going to dinners with someone who thinks that Van Gogh is a player of Ajax. "
"I guess, but how must the poor?"
"Night school, Bignamini and Who Wants to Be a Millionaire at full blast."
"Mah Oh well. Good work, Maria Montessori. "


After a month of this therapy serrata, Stefi saw some improvement and decided to bring Aristide to an informal dinner with colleagues.
Things just did not go well. Starting from the presentations.

"Hello, pleasure, Franco"
"Nice, Aristide."
"What, sorry?"
"Aristide. As the great greek philosopher. "

" Nice Aristide "
" Nice, Sveva "
"Ah! Bella Swabia! But how is it that your name? "

" Ah! Here is the Adonis who did lose their heads to our Stefi "
" The what? Sorry but I do not speak English. "

The foundation of Stefi began to leak.
"UA Hahaha! I told you that is a funny guy! "The Persian
looked at the question but Stefi look cool with a triple rotating drill.
And the evening went on. As time passed, the Persian indulged more and more.

"Aristide want to taste my pasty bean blacks?"
"No thanks Franco, beans make me concert. "
" What? "
" Concertino ... I have to like you ', er ar machine gun cul ... "
" TREASURE! What do you got? "
" Na Wiener Schnitzel "
" Milanese "
" And I've said? How to do it here Milanesa, Franco ah? "
" I do not know Aristide, I am a vegetarian. "
" Ah, perfect, just what I need. My cat so 'three days vomiting. What should I do '?

"UHUHUH! Treasury're too strong! "
" But that strong, Stefi ah, er is a cat died! "Kicked the
Stefi under the table and hissed through his teeth "prl mbcll TLN.
"What?"
"No honey,"
"Boh!"
Taking advantage of a moment of distraction general, Stefi's clear the concept: "SPEAK ITALIAN Idiot!"

In a toast to another, the evening did not seem unhappy endless. And the alcohol did not help the efforts of Stephen.

"What job do you say? I know, I've already asked but I forgot. I'm sorry but I returned yesterday from New York and I suffer a lot of jet lag ... "
" Ammappa! And that brings us up to Gnuork'm jet? "

Stefi surrendered. And the laughter stopped making reparation. After several glasses, Aristide was out of control.
"Waiter! Waiter who brings me n'posacenere? "
" Here there is smoke, sir. "
" Nun I smoke, I spit that I had stuck in the butt is er palate. I know the MagNA Pure Milanesa co mbocca'm inflatable! "
Stefi must have implemented an exercise in metempsychosis why did not blink.

A girl tried to distract the general tension as he could.
Sky people ... the other night I was at a gala evening at the Grand Hotel des Princes. A stuff to make your head spin. All bankers and financiers. "
"MBE? I I've got 'na girlfriend and bankers' n cousin financier. And even a policeman. But not me like this. "
The frost fell on the table until Stefi pointed out:" You do not have any girlfriend bankers. You have no girlfriend and that's it. "
Mr. Persichetti shrugged and said:
" Sticazzi. "

Forced to accompany him back home, he yelled Stefi daughters of all colors.
"But what an idiot I am! As I have thought to take you to my friends. That figure that you made me do, you realize? "
" AO, Give na calmed down. But who do you think of them? Er nobbella prize? "
" But you see I'm hick. "
" I will be hick, but you You're old na fracica that if you no longer row. "
Stefi restrained from crime:
" Get out of my car filthy dirty, ignorant , beast, boor of shit! "
" get down get down, and nu 'screamed that you too may fall' to false teeth. "

Moral of the story: a perch you can not pass for white bream Empire.
And if you are over thirty, you're a woman and you're still single ... keep calm and stay away from supermarkets.