Zebra With Paris Theme

double track (serialized stories: episode # 2)

He turned. The man, even the guy who followed her, smiled, and with a short run to her.

" What day is it? "he asked.

" On Sunday I think, otherwise I would have to work and to school you. "

and smiled, watching him, the frown of all time, the sweater sideways, and step nervous that you ate the road.

"What a beautiful valley this, Mom, I'm excited every time I see ... "

" It 's nice, but I love the sea. "

" I know, you're just a lizard "

coming down side by side along the narrow lane, not snowing anymore.

"I am hungry and you?" he asked.

"No," he said.

The little bar in the country was small and shabby in that its Lindor plastic and sharp smell of detergent that rose from the bucket, full of foamy water, where the owner who squeezed the snot dipped before passing it over with enthusiasm on the floor.

"A strong coffee and chocolate. Do you have any croissants?"

"We salami and cheese, Sir '" and she laughed, her hands on her hips and waving, watching her greedy son, who already assented. She watched him eat

, coffee strong and bitter that went down in the stomach, and asked:

"So you've decided that right ..."

"Good this salami ..."

"faccimo The rest of us, I think who is bono ..." and the curious woman asked, "Where are you from?"

"From far, far away," she said.

"Economics in the best tradition of family ..." and laughed concluding "You convinced me." The owner

hours fiddling around an old radio. A few seconds and the room broke the music. I wish it was love, love the real thing ... and she continued to mezzavoce, the thing that I feel .... and watching his son hit his way to look and color of his eyes, as if he had discovered at that time. What? "What the chromosomes are not water," he thought, confused, because happiness does not require intelligence, just the ability to let go to grab it with all senses and in all its absence of meaning.

From the window came the luccicchio white snow and the sun slanting. Bully.

(more. ..)

Stop Friends Looking At Friend List On Facebook

double track (serialized stories: episode # 1) The Return of Casanova

The night was dark, starless, dark. She advanced along the path almost groping, stumbling at times on the tree roots protruding from the ground, the cape that fluttered around, gonfionadosi wind and get caught on tree branches that could see when EMEGA spectral darkness.

went, without stopping, step by step, almost an instinct driving. But where? He knew he'd go, he hoped that his instincts guide. Every now and then raised his eyes staring at the sky, seamless, merged with the darkness of the earth, wrapped in a velvet jewel box.

"There will be a street light at an intersection, a box bordered by light, a star escaped the cage of the clouds ..." he thought as his feet trod the earth and she split from frost wrong, wrong. "How long? What time could it be? He did not wear watches, no one had ever endured. The time was kept at a distance, like an unwelcome lover not deign to look: he had already invaded his life to take a pieces, bites, bites in ever larger ... "

A blue flash shattered the darkness. A voice, unpleasant, accompanied him. Someone called. "Angela, Angela ... good morning!" And who is this? It sank in two mammoth tits, smelling of "Stretch and admire," gasped, felt a sharp pain in his arm and, as he answered educatamenteva "Yes?", The voice of a little while ago asked, "How are we going? "." What do you care? "she could not help but think, she said, knowing that I have to say something, muttering the two words" Not bad ... "And with her eyes closed, stubbornly closed, because this was not the light he sought.

something slipped in her throat ... Then again between his lips and dark he found a flake of snow, ice, melted upon contact of his mouth. water it, but we were missing only the snow to make his journey even more hardship and difficult.

made clear the air a pale glimmer at night.

was rising 's dawn.

The World regained firm boundaries: the laugh of relief sang, like a stream to thaw, its echo is amplified clashing, bouncing from rock to rock as the sun lit up the valley that opened up before her, the cottages thrown at random like dice on a table. A cock crowed, and someone walking behind him, quickened his pace.

(more. ..)

Antibiotics Cure Swollen Ankles

love Schnitzler, Arthur Schnitzler, of which I have just read The Return of Casanova, little gem wrote in the early twentieth century Austrian author. Lowering the role of a Casanova in his sixties, the writer suggests it decline, suggesting to the tight wire of an interior monologue, as a soundtrack in the background, the cadence or rhythm. And history shows us a Casanova forced to take note of the insult of the time, trying to challenge comparison with the integrated youth - and the beauty that goes with it - Marcolina lover, a handsome young officer in love with the girl to Casanova who, following a loss to the game that gave them the shod and dressed in all his weakness, will an indecent proposal: a night with Marcolina zeroing in exchange of debt. Casanova, posing as the young officer under cover of darkness, will penetrate into the room of women e. .. At this point, the mail game will not just be a love affair, one more to add to the long list of Casanova's conquests, but the law, the opportunity, the family normal capacity of seduction that will prove not only intact, but glowing, explosive as a fireworks in a night of celebration, not only able to vanquish any other suitor, recognizing him for the umpteenth time, the seducer that no rivals, the man to whom every woman can only dream sooner or later to treat themselves, but also the fate that condemns us to old age. There

advance the final, in a crescendo of challenges and emotions that require it, can only be, as is inevitable, the result of consequential logic of events that punctuate their lives.

the background, even if nothing links the sites of Austria to Schnitzler's novel, the degree of maturity which the author arrives in deepening the psychological analysis of characters, primarily Casanova, brings me back to the Vienna of Freud, the birth of psychoanalysis that the culture was able to produce ... just before the war to overwhelm and destroy forever the empire of the Habsburgs.