scrivere_dellecosechesuccedono The existing list of what has been said (already) is a piece of paper that I keep in my little black agenda.
...
A man crying on a hot July day, with hands clasped and red wire on the railing of the bridge. Almost comically stretched over the small brook dirty.
The birds of the nearby trees, occasionally, they sang. They were silent, from time to time.
The man was crying false tears for the wrongs committed. The sun dried up the black asphalt and, again, was in July.
People walked as they walk each day. Straight. In simple thoughts of straight roads, ignoring changes invisible.
The shade of the leaves, moves from time to time by the weak wind, engulfed the weeping man, ignored by crowds on their way.
A young woman nearby, laughed a loud laugh and a little coarse. The dog of an old lady with big ears and the size of mouse, dog sniffed the ass of the next. Large-pastor from the air arrogant bastard.
And the man cried, but could not even throw in the small stream dirty. It would only hurt a lot and it would have seemed ridiculous. Perhaps the young woman would laugh again, even more rudely.
An elderly man, who could also be respected, sought empty glass bottles in small green bins rubbish pedestrian. Carrying two plastic bags from the supermarket. It smelled of warm beer, but the man who cried plan would not be able to distinguish the smell in the breeze.
Crying on small streams insignificant, in fact, the thoughts are smells and stomach usually changes the taste of the air closed in the summer.
The old lady and her dog walked past the old rat-bum of the bottles, not far from the man who cried tears dry quickly. How noble princess
lapsed.
It would probably be enough for only a brief smile of mom (or maybe two words of kindness free) on that hot July day, to make it less bad two small dead future. But this, from time to time, among people who walk straight.
