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Two weeks of rehearsals for a performance at the library, the reading group. Folk songs and short monologues about events and characters of the site.
I call to play the guitar as accompaniment. A director
pignolissima you replace a "but" with a "but" at the last moment, the appropriate clothes to make the story-tellers, to find in the back of drawers or buried in the closet, picked up a handful of which are each on I have her and I trailing behind inventing arrangements then and there.
And finally you go on stage.
And everything is wrong: the words, timing, attack, fall leaves, you stumble in skirts.
But suddenly the audience applauds at the end: he has not noticed anything?
does not matter, we liked him. We were bene.
Che figura, però.

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Marathon Man

His is a truly unique event.

What engages him for a long time, years.
now in town everyone knows, there are not any more.
He is part of the landscape, there has always been and always will be. Bizarre
course, with this his infinite run, run ... but ultimately harmless.
E 'is passing now, here it is.

His is a frenetic race, the muscles of the legs in an extreme stress theory, the shortness of breath e al tempo stesso l’assenza nello sguardo della benché minima volontà di fermarsi.
Slalom tra le decine di bambini che escono da scuola, attraverso il semaforo rosso schivando le auto in velocità, nessuna rilevanza agli insulti ricevuti.
Il sudore impregna la maglia e imperla il suo viso mentre un vecchio scuote la testa sconsolato.
Lustre vetrine scorrono colorate ai lati del campo visivo, chissà quali meraviglie racchiudono, comincia a piovere.
Tanto meglio, non vi è ora ragione per rallentare, il fresco agevola la prestazione fisica.
‘Che ci fa qui in centro tutta questa gente?’
Una ragazza di bell’aspetto si pone timidamente sulla traiettoria: immobile, esprime un sorriso sensibile e comprensivo. Pare voglia dire qualcosa.
Schivata.
Ora nel parco, la strada sterrata con la pioggia si è trasformata in una poltiglia melmosa, il cane di un passante abbaia furiosamente qualche secondo per poi acquietarsi.
Si unisce un altro ragazzo in tuta, sembra tenere il ritmo fino a quando sfinito, capitola con il classico ‘non ce la faccio più’. Il corridore saluta gentilmente. Con un cenno della mano, senza voltarsi.
E’ una fortuna non sentire la fatica. O meglio, sentirla e ignorarla come una canzone che non ti piace.

Concentrato sulla corsa, l’uomo in fuga non ricorda più perché abbia un giorno iniziato a correre, da dove sia partito, da che cosa is really running away, running away is always the case.
The fact is that even if you ask.

happens that, during his remarkable marathon, realize that could go where he wants behold, those are the moments during which he experiences a fleeting sense of freedom. Other times
wonders where he is going . But only for a moment.
immediately looks down and increases the pace.

When you stop?
do not know.
There are days when the sky is clear and the trees of the avenue are dressed in white, if you see one of those moments pass, approached him and watch it in the smiling eyes:
understand that his dream is the finish line.
wherever it is.

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The thief bouquet

Quasimodo è il gatto della mia vicina di casa. E' bellissimo, pelo beige gonfio e morbido, occhi azzurri incantatori, tranquillo e caparbio, curiosissimo.

Ovviamente non va d'accordo col mio che si è visto spodestato del tetto di cui ora non è più l'unico passeggiatore; appena lo vede gli soffia e spesso ho trovato ciuffi di peli variegati neri e beige in casa mia, segno di lotte finite zero a zero.

E' evidente che Quasimodo, infischiandosene della cattiva accoglienza, entra a suo piacimento anche nel sancta sanctorum del suo dirimpettaio nero.

L'altro giorno che avevo lasciato inadvertently open the door of the room, on my return I found some items moved and seemed to me that he lacked even a bouquet of dried flowers which retain for some time and several times I thought about trashing. At the time he threw away the doubt of it has come back and I'm done with this issue.

Last night the neighbor heard me coming, he opened his door and said:-Look, excuse a moment, but this is yours?

was the bouquet. In practice it was that happened one morning while he was washing his face and was so slow without it 'goggles, he saw his cat appear with something in his mouth and immediately thought it was a prey tettaiola maybe still alive. He then locked the cat, he is armed with goggles, gloves and rags and reopened the door to the cat.

That was always there behind that looked a bit 'offended, widening the famous blue eyes and in her mouth .... a bouquet of flowers. For her.

He confessed that he had even moved.

And then I had to do? Take back the flowers? No, it was his now, a tribute to the cat's Quasimodo, thief bouquet.