aveugle
It's dark outside, a few lights and covered with glass sketch svelte figures walking on the sidewalk. Almost does not seem to exist, it is so dark in the morning, it is so fleeting that cast the shadow.
The window of the bar is a screen that protects against the cold and strong-smelling vapor exhaled by manholes. Inside there is a shelter where the atmosphere is warm and the warmth that you feel is like an inner confidence whispered in his ear: a familiar, fleshy lips wetted.
Standing, his stomach stuck to the counter, waiting for a man crumpled coffee. Swing, with outstretched arms at your sides. Between his fingers shaking imaginary notes: it controls the watermark with the fingertips.
wearing a jacket and pants lysis synthetic malachite color purple velvet. The head has gray moldy hay and wet, and set into the mouth teeth yellowed by time. Rasping dots are seen on the cheeks of a beard that, in addition to soil the face, suggest an innate negligence is compounded by drowsiness in the morning.
The bartender hastily put the cup on the counter of smooth marble, making it resonate in front of the old rocking. A breath of Arabia comes to the red nostrils and wrinkles. The larger, as only bunnies can do.
As a reflex, his left arm is raised. He holds up his left hand, making crawling along the side. At the height of the first rib changes direction, reaching for the bar. In doing so, not once moving his head does it all without looking.
rests his hand on the marble. Dita keel blocks of walnut, fine and delicate, they look so uncertain the base of the cup. It is this: does it all without seeing. The
boiled his eyes can not see. Maybe God has nailed the pupils with too much violence.
His gaze is fixed, and is always facing forward. The eyes diverge a little, of a squint that makes him look like a victim ready to receive an apology from an unidentified passerby.
Twice squeezes the air, and only a third time, finally, he can not really appeal. Generates few waves of coffee, and then, after waiting for you at rest, rises the cup to his lips and if the timer in the throat without tasting it.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Measles In 8 Month Old
One afternoon residue cugnisiun
often say:
\u0026lt;
often say:
\u0026lt;
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often say:
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Voglio donare, but only to those who merita>>.
Not so say the trees in your orchard,
or animals in your pasture. Damage to live because
withhold is to perish.
Surely the man who is worthy to receive
his days and nights
is worthy to receive anything from you.
Kahlil Gibran.
- My love, today is Sunday: we've been together a week!
What the fuck you say? Of course I must really be bitches to say such a thing. And how do you want to spend the afternoon in a mall? An order of Carrefour that spends his free time 8 gallery ... Surely, this smells like shit out of his mouth does not see what is lean? Do not eat for two days!
My friend has just fallen down. See who you choose: a girl's third choice. How does such a fuck? On her account that I can measure the self: the level of self-esteem has hit rock bottom. Perhaps he is with her because she needs to feel superior, to increase their self-esteem?
There is already smells like Christmas. We had to go to a mall for a foretaste. Those trees with plastic needles, plastic and plastic decorations made me sick. During Christmas I become more sadistic and cynical ...
- I am the virgin.
also these: where did you caught? It's like a smoker's lung cancer: need to strut your search! Her perfume stinks. It must literally water of the toilet. Well, if nothing else is consistent with its aesthetics. Poor thing, though. His mouth is a hole sore tooth, and his nose is a step unwatchable. He looks quite attractive: the jelly Gorgias, dark circles, bags under the eyes, the body that seems sickly, almost joined the hairline to the eyebrows ... A few qualms, it is not my fault if it is ugly. Does not depend on me if I think these bad things. I will be spontaneous, and I can not control them. Sandrine
! She is a beautiful pussy. And it is also smart! Plus it's my cross-cousin: it is not so outrageous to think of her as a sexual partner. He also flies from the piglets. A bed must be a bomb. I never understood where the arrival of her black eyes. How many Europeans have eyes blacks? No, I do not say brown, I mean blacks.
Simo if it's done, his cousin. He also made her pregnant. What an idiot! Now needs to commute from London to Marseille to visit his daughter and her cousin, in turn born of the union of two cousins ... east-ce que tu sais pouruoi if you scratch the cul tout le temps? Puis que circle the shit!
- And you, what's your sign?
of the middle finger are rising. I would have been a diligent slaughterer of men, if I had been a Nazi. Maybe I missed a bit 'of efficiency, but it certainly would have killed thousands. With great relish, hiding my sadism behind the low ideals of the party, I would throw up their soul kicking him on his stomach. I can see clearly, helpless as a newborn calf that can not stand, I kick them every time you try to get up, every time they try to emerge from a puddle of cold pigsty. The only thing that stands out among the gray of the barracks and the color of mud, the blood covering their teeth.
This evening I read absolutely Gibran, otherwise it ends up that strangle the first that happens at hand ...
- In a little 'we have arrived. Turn right at the next.
My God that afternoon tasteless! What sense is existence so dull? How can they pretend to be happy? They rejoice in a foolish enthusiasm, teen!
If so livid I spent days and met people so tasteless when I was fourteen, I would certainly now a heroin addict.
Now, because of this afternoon, I will spend at least a week without seeing anyone.
I could go in the mountains, stay with only a few days: I, tent and backpack. No. Should I travel abroad, see something new, open the windows of the mind to change the air made unbearable by such nonsense. Yeah, and the money?
Never mind: I'm breakin the roots. Yes, it's good for me. Gibran against misanthropy, the roots to channel aggression.
are all marked, those roots. They are worm-eaten. Yesterday I found a worm twice the size of others. As it does, with his teeth from insect to dig the roots of hardwood? He lives in what feeds him, and I have destroyed him. How much meanness in his fate! The poor Jonah was stumped by an insect, to the point of desiring death, but just remember all the great fish that swallowed him ...
- Well, we arrived. Stop.
I do not stop to greet them, rather, I get the car running ...
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Voglio donare, but only to those who merita>>.
Not so say the trees in your orchard,
or animals in your pasture. Damage to live because
withhold is to perish.
Surely the man who is worthy to receive
his days and nights
is worthy to receive anything from you.
Kahlil Gibran.
- My love, today is Sunday: we've been together a week!
What the fuck you say? Of course I must really be bitches to say such a thing. And how do you want to spend the afternoon in a mall? An order of Carrefour that spends his free time 8 gallery ... Surely, this smells like shit out of his mouth does not see what is lean? Do not eat for two days!
My friend has just fallen down. See who you choose: a girl's third choice. How does such a fuck? On her account that I can measure the self: the level of self-esteem has hit rock bottom. Perhaps he is with her because she needs to feel superior, to increase their self-esteem?
There is already smells like Christmas. We had to go to a mall for a foretaste. Those trees with plastic needles, plastic and plastic decorations made me sick. During Christmas I become more sadistic and cynical ...
- I am the virgin.
also these: where did you caught? It's like a smoker's lung cancer: need to strut your search! Her perfume stinks. It must literally water of the toilet. Well, if nothing else is consistent with its aesthetics. Poor thing, though. His mouth is a hole sore tooth, and his nose is a step unwatchable. He looks quite attractive: the jelly Gorgias, dark circles, bags under the eyes, the body that seems sickly, almost joined the hairline to the eyebrows ... A few qualms, it is not my fault if it is ugly. Does not depend on me if I think these bad things. I will be spontaneous, and I can not control them. Sandrine
! She is a beautiful pussy. And it is also smart! Plus it's my cross-cousin: it is not so outrageous to think of her as a sexual partner. He also flies from the piglets. A bed must be a bomb. I never understood where the arrival of her black eyes. How many Europeans have eyes blacks? No, I do not say brown, I mean blacks.
Simo if it's done, his cousin. He also made her pregnant. What an idiot! Now needs to commute from London to Marseille to visit his daughter and her cousin, in turn born of the union of two cousins ... east-ce que tu sais pouruoi if you scratch the cul tout le temps? Puis que circle the shit!
- And you, what's your sign?
of the middle finger are rising. I would have been a diligent slaughterer of men, if I had been a Nazi. Maybe I missed a bit 'of efficiency, but it certainly would have killed thousands. With great relish, hiding my sadism behind the low ideals of the party, I would throw up their soul kicking him on his stomach. I can see clearly, helpless as a newborn calf that can not stand, I kick them every time you try to get up, every time they try to emerge from a puddle of cold pigsty. The only thing that stands out among the gray of the barracks and the color of mud, the blood covering their teeth.
This evening I read absolutely Gibran, otherwise it ends up that strangle the first that happens at hand ...
- In a little 'we have arrived. Turn right at the next.
My God that afternoon tasteless! What sense is existence so dull? How can they pretend to be happy? They rejoice in a foolish enthusiasm, teen!
If so livid I spent days and met people so tasteless when I was fourteen, I would certainly now a heroin addict.
Now, because of this afternoon, I will spend at least a week without seeing anyone.
I could go in the mountains, stay with only a few days: I, tent and backpack. No. Should I travel abroad, see something new, open the windows of the mind to change the air made unbearable by such nonsense. Yeah, and the money?
Never mind: I'm breakin the roots. Yes, it's good for me. Gibran against misanthropy, the roots to channel aggression.
are all marked, those roots. They are worm-eaten. Yesterday I found a worm twice the size of others. As it does, with his teeth from insect to dig the roots of hardwood? He lives in what feeds him, and I have destroyed him. How much meanness in his fate! The poor Jonah was stumped by an insect, to the point of desiring death, but just remember all the great fish that swallowed him ...
- Well, we arrived. Stop.
I do not stop to greet them, rather, I get the car running ...
Friday, December 4, 2009
Where Can I Get Community Service Hours Quick
61007 @ 2009-12-04T13: 13:00
Sayfu d-Din awoke. He was in bed in the room he shared with his brother Marco.
It looked right, and deduced from the sheets turned over in bed that Mark had already risen. He looked more than the sun, its rays penetrating with green shutters, pierced with arrows, shining the floor. Saw dust which ascend into the light.
raised suddenly the blanket. Just as he did with it, then put his feet on the floor. It was a unique gesture.
He got up, and immediately saw in the mirror on the wall a figure in his underwear: "I do not like at all," he thought, looking in the mirror. Every day, when he had hung, noted with resignation and concern that his reflection is not obeyed him, indeed: if he raised his right arm, she raised her left, if the left eye closed, it closed the right.
"Mais elle est here? Qu'est-ce que ça mean? Qu'est-ce qu'elle veut de moi? ".
finished watching the mirror, hung his head and looked at the dresser. Above it there was a stack of books: the Koran, the Gospels, The Life of the Buddha Siddhartha, The Songlines, The ring of King Solomon, Dakota Texts. That order made him think: "It is religion to precede the Man? He is the man to overtake? Or the birth of one is concomitant with that of another? ".
He went into the bathroom and washed her face. Again we behold in the mirror: a film of soap and water covered his face and irritated eyes.
"You again? You are not left in the mirror? ".
It was silent.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;... and at the hour of our death. Amen>>.
A hollow voice came from the kitchen.
Sayfu d-Din heard the end of the Ave Maria, she finished washing her face. He looked at the sink: white hair and the smell of shaving soap.
"Grandpa," he thought. Grandfather
Giovambattista, u calabrisazzu, was at his house for the past three months, but once again he had forgotten to remember.
Sayfu d-Din mopped his face and looked one last time, casually and with resignation, that unknown face. Then he turned and walked down the hallway and came into the kitchen.
Giamba Grandfather (as it was known by everyone) was sitting near the window. He wore a pair of spectacles lenses from very dirty and kept open a book older than him and his fingers gnarled stortissime. The book containing the prayers of St. Brigid, was really old, full of archaisms, such as the spelling "wonder" instead of the more modern "wonder" and the Paleolithic "•" sometimes used in place of "s".
"Ave Maria, fullest of grace ...."
recited the rosary every day, caring so reverend to increase the value of the attributes of the Madonna (most blessed among women) and the most blessed fruit of her womb.
\u0026lt;
Sayfu d-Din awoke. He was in bed in the room he shared with his brother Marco.
It looked right, and deduced from the sheets turned over in bed that Mark had already risen. He looked more than the sun, its rays penetrating with green shutters, pierced with arrows, shining the floor. Saw dust which ascend into the light.
raised suddenly the blanket. Just as he did with it, then put his feet on the floor. It was a unique gesture.
He got up, and immediately saw in the mirror on the wall a figure in his underwear: "I do not like at all," he thought, looking in the mirror. Every day, when he had hung, noted with resignation and concern that his reflection is not obeyed him, indeed: if he raised his right arm, she raised her left, if the left eye closed, it closed the right.
"Mais elle est here? Qu'est-ce que ça mean? Qu'est-ce qu'elle veut de moi? ".
finished watching the mirror, hung his head and looked at the dresser. Above it there was a stack of books: the Koran, the Gospels, The Life of the Buddha Siddhartha, The Songlines, The ring of King Solomon, Dakota Texts. That order made him think: "It is religion to precede the Man? He is the man to overtake? Or the birth of one is concomitant with that of another? ".
He went into the bathroom and washed her face. Again we behold in the mirror: a film of soap and water covered his face and irritated eyes.
"You again? You are not left in the mirror? ".
It was silent.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;... and at the hour of our death. Amen>>.
A hollow voice came from the kitchen.
Sayfu d-Din heard the end of the Ave Maria, she finished washing her face. He looked at the sink: white hair and the smell of shaving soap.
"Grandpa," he thought. Grandfather
Giovambattista, u calabrisazzu, was at his house for the past three months, but once again he had forgotten to remember.
Sayfu d-Din mopped his face and looked one last time, casually and with resignation, that unknown face. Then he turned and walked down the hallway and came into the kitchen.
Giamba Grandfather (as it was known by everyone) was sitting near the window. He wore a pair of spectacles lenses from very dirty and kept open a book older than him and his fingers gnarled stortissime. The book containing the prayers of St. Brigid, was really old, full of archaisms, such as the spelling "wonder" instead of the more modern "wonder" and the Paleolithic "•" sometimes used in place of "s".
"Ave Maria, fullest of grace ...."
recited the rosary every day, caring so reverend to increase the value of the attributes of the Madonna (most blessed among women) and the most blessed fruit of her womb.
\u0026lt;
[ Error: irreparable invalid markup ('\u0026lt;ciao,>') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.]
Sayfu d-Din awoke. He was in bed in the room he shared with his brother Marco.
It looked right, and deduced from the sheets turned over in bed that Mark had already risen. He looked more than the sun, its rays penetrating with green shutters, pierced with arrows, shining the floor. Saw dust which ascend into the light.
abruptly lifted the blanket. Just as he did with it, then put his feet on the floor. It was a unique gesture.
He got up, and immediately saw in the mirror on the wall a figure in his underwear: "I do not like at all," he thought, looking in the mirror. Every day, when he had hung, noted with resignation and concern that his reflection is not obeyed him, indeed: if he raised his right arm, she raised her left, if the left eye closed, it closed the right.
"Mais elle est here? Qu'est-ce que ça mean? Qu'est-ce qu'elle veut de moi? ".
finished watching the mirror, hung his head and looked at the dresser. Above it there was a pile of books: the Koran, the Gospels, The Life of the Buddha Siddhartha, The Songlines, The ring of King Solomon, Dakota Texts. That order made him think: "It is religion to precede the Man? He is the man to overtake? Or the birth of one is concomitant with that of another? ".
He went into the bathroom and washed her face. Again we behold in the mirror: a film of soap and water covered his face and irritated eyes.
"You again? You are not left in the mirror? ".
It was silent.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;... and at the hour of our death. Amen>>.
A hollow voice came from the kitchen.
Sayfu d-Din heard the end of the Ave Maria, she finished washing her face. He looked at the sink: white hair and the smell of shaving soap.
"Grandfather!" he thought. Grandfather
Giovambattista, u calabrisazzu, was at his house for the past three months, but once again he had forgotten to remember.
Sayfu d-Din mopped his face and looked one last time, casually and with resignation, that unknown face. Then he turned and walked down the hallway and came into the kitchen.
Giamba Grandfather (as it was known by everyone) was sitting near the window. He wore a pair of spectacles lenses from very dirty and kept open a book older than him and his fingers gnarled stortissime. The book containing the prayers of St. Brigid, was really old, full of archaisms, such as the spelling "wonder" instead of the more modern "wonder" and the Paleolithic "•" sometimes used in place of "s".
"Ave Maria, fullest of grace ...."
recited the rosary every day, caring so reverend to increase the value of the attributes of the Madonna (most blessed among women) and the most blessed fruit of her womb.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Hello, Grandpa. What are you doing?>>.
He knew what he was doing, but he asked her the same, moved by pity for this fossil from the voice and body trembling.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Caro Sayfu d-Din,'m reciting the Holy Rosario…Amen>>.
Sayfu d-Din, without listening to the answer, filled a bowl of milk and put it on the table. Approached him.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Grandfather, how do you read with those glasses? Can not you see that the lenses are white instead of transparent ?!>>.
wore them on the tip of the nose, like Scrooge 'Scrooge. We read on, not through.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;What do you mean? Crap!>>. The
gently pulled his glasses and passed them under the water. Li rubbed with a cloth and handed it to him.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;E nostrissima the hour of death. Amen>>.
Yes, he said "nostrissima.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Ehi, do not seem to esagerare?>>.
Giamba took the glasses and put them on.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;But that you need glasses if you know her as Mary l'Ave fosse, and in fact if and, l'Ave Maria?>>.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;d-Din Sayfu dear, one more and then I finuto Ave. Let's talk after>>.
Sayfu d-Din sat down and drank cold milk in an amen, the last
Ave \u0026lt;\u0026lt;Nipote caro, finished now that we can speak of a dream about fici>>, said closing the book Giamba .
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;But you know that three years ago I have dreamed to Jesus?>>.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Really, Grandpa? You've dreamed it, Jesus?>>.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;So is not it? These things are true ... how true>>.
Sayfu d-Din knew by heart that dream had told him countless times. He had dreamed of having "given" to the church of Bovalino a bench. In memory of this, or perhaps to gain a place in heaven with the money, did you screw in a plate with the words "kind offer of the faithful Giovambattista Tartaglia.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;In the dream we were most blessed that Jesus and I walked along a strata, dressed in the uniform of the military. I, that I Canoscio, I said, 'Son of God, u will construct surfaces Sapiti ca' na bench for the church ?'>>.
Sayfu d-Din, a little 'fun and a little' disappointed, asked: \u0026lt;\u0026lt;Nonno, are perhaps things to be told Gesù?>>.
Giamba, striking his fist on his knee ailing, warned him: \u0026lt;\u0026lt;Let me finish! And you know that Jesus said?>>.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;No answered falsely Sayfu d-Din-what disse?>>.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;U sapimu, u sapimu, said>>.
Sayfu d-Din bit his lip to keep from laughing. Flashed in him the idea of a Jesus with a mustache blacks and a shotgun on her shoulder.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Poi-added-Giamba dissi:'u Sapiti about Don Micu bestemmia?'>>.
Sayfu d-Din did not hold back and laughed.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Grandfather, not a spy! But it seems fair to tell you the dicks of others in a dream? To Jesus, plus>>.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Shut up! Let me finish!>>.
Sayfu d-Din tried to restrain himself. To mitigate the laughter Giamba avoided watching his grandfather in the face.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;said: 'Do not worry, that Puru sapimu !'>>.
Sayfu d-Din laughed more than ever, until the real Sayfu d-Din (who writes the stories and lives on the other side of the mirror) never tired of beating the keys on the keyboard.
It looked right, and deduced from the sheets turned over in bed that Mark had already risen. He looked more than the sun, its rays penetrating with green shutters, pierced with arrows, shining the floor. Saw dust which ascend into the light.
abruptly lifted the blanket. Just as he did with it, then put his feet on the floor. It was a unique gesture.
He got up, and immediately saw in the mirror on the wall a figure in his underwear: "I do not like at all," he thought, looking in the mirror. Every day, when he had hung, noted with resignation and concern that his reflection is not obeyed him, indeed: if he raised his right arm, she raised her left, if the left eye closed, it closed the right.
"Mais elle est here? Qu'est-ce que ça mean? Qu'est-ce qu'elle veut de moi? ".
finished watching the mirror, hung his head and looked at the dresser. Above it there was a pile of books: the Koran, the Gospels, The Life of the Buddha Siddhartha, The Songlines, The ring of King Solomon, Dakota Texts. That order made him think: "It is religion to precede the Man? He is the man to overtake? Or the birth of one is concomitant with that of another? ".
He went into the bathroom and washed her face. Again we behold in the mirror: a film of soap and water covered his face and irritated eyes.
"You again? You are not left in the mirror? ".
It was silent.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;... and at the hour of our death. Amen>>.
A hollow voice came from the kitchen.
Sayfu d-Din heard the end of the Ave Maria, she finished washing her face. He looked at the sink: white hair and the smell of shaving soap.
"Grandfather!" he thought. Grandfather
Giovambattista, u calabrisazzu, was at his house for the past three months, but once again he had forgotten to remember.
Sayfu d-Din mopped his face and looked one last time, casually and with resignation, that unknown face. Then he turned and walked down the hallway and came into the kitchen.
Giamba Grandfather (as it was known by everyone) was sitting near the window. He wore a pair of spectacles lenses from very dirty and kept open a book older than him and his fingers gnarled stortissime. The book containing the prayers of St. Brigid, was really old, full of archaisms, such as the spelling "wonder" instead of the more modern "wonder" and the Paleolithic "•" sometimes used in place of "s".
"Ave Maria, fullest of grace ...."
recited the rosary every day, caring so reverend to increase the value of the attributes of the Madonna (most blessed among women) and the most blessed fruit of her womb.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Hello, Grandpa. What are you doing?>>.
He knew what he was doing, but he asked her the same, moved by pity for this fossil from the voice and body trembling.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Caro Sayfu d-Din,'m reciting the Holy Rosario…Amen>>.
Sayfu d-Din, without listening to the answer, filled a bowl of milk and put it on the table. Approached him.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Grandfather, how do you read with those glasses? Can not you see that the lenses are white instead of transparent ?!>>.
wore them on the tip of the nose, like Scrooge 'Scrooge. We read on, not through.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;What do you mean? Crap!>>. The
gently pulled his glasses and passed them under the water. Li rubbed with a cloth and handed it to him.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;E nostrissima the hour of death. Amen>>.
Yes, he said "nostrissima.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Ehi, do not seem to esagerare?>>.
Giamba took the glasses and put them on.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;But that you need glasses if you know her as Mary l'Ave fosse, and in fact if and, l'Ave Maria?>>.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;d-Din Sayfu dear, one more and then I finuto Ave. Let's talk after>>.
Sayfu d-Din sat down and drank cold milk in an amen, the last
Ave \u0026lt;\u0026lt;Nipote caro, finished now that we can speak of a dream about fici>>, said closing the book Giamba .
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;But you know that three years ago I have dreamed to Jesus?>>.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Really, Grandpa? You've dreamed it, Jesus?>>.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;So is not it? These things are true ... how true>>.
Sayfu d-Din knew by heart that dream had told him countless times. He had dreamed of having "given" to the church of Bovalino a bench. In memory of this, or perhaps to gain a place in heaven with the money, did you screw in a plate with the words "kind offer of the faithful Giovambattista Tartaglia.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;In the dream we were most blessed that Jesus and I walked along a strata, dressed in the uniform of the military. I, that I Canoscio, I said, 'Son of God, u will construct surfaces Sapiti ca' na bench for the church ?'>>.
Sayfu d-Din, a little 'fun and a little' disappointed, asked: \u0026lt;\u0026lt;Nonno, are perhaps things to be told Gesù?>>.
Giamba, striking his fist on his knee ailing, warned him: \u0026lt;\u0026lt;Let me finish! And you know that Jesus said?>>.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;No answered falsely Sayfu d-Din-what disse?>>.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;U sapimu, u sapimu, said>>.
Sayfu d-Din bit his lip to keep from laughing. Flashed in him the idea of a Jesus with a mustache blacks and a shotgun on her shoulder.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Poi-added-Giamba dissi:'u Sapiti about Don Micu bestemmia?'>>.
Sayfu d-Din did not hold back and laughed.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Grandfather, not a spy! But it seems fair to tell you the dicks of others in a dream? To Jesus, plus>>.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;Shut up! Let me finish!>>.
Sayfu d-Din tried to restrain himself. To mitigate the laughter Giamba avoided watching his grandfather in the face.
\u0026lt;\u0026lt;said: 'Do not worry, that Puru sapimu !'>>.
Sayfu d-Din laughed more than ever, until the real Sayfu d-Din (who writes the stories and lives on the other side of the mirror) never tired of beating the keys on the keyboard.
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