.....................
this is a three-way traffic light. I did a rough calculation the other day and discovered that, if nothing will change in my life, I will spend at least 35 days before this traffic light. A longer period of my extended vacation, more than I was in Bali for example.
35 days and a few seconds if you do not change anything in my life, almost a bet. While they are still before the red comes up to me a big motorbike green, glossy high discharges, but roaring music. Visor obscured, on the white helmet is a black writing: I do not care .
My dad and my uncle were fascists.
Father had stopped to young fascist , had no passport because she was too young, but his uncle had made the march on Rome. He had arrived late, he was a bit 'after, it was also a bit' lost, but there was.
He called it "the 'German'. Not because he was disciplined or blond, because he attacked when he wrote the words, as in the German grammar.
Dear Ameleto sperotivada Tuttobene. Good system here. Tornavincitore. Faliero Giardi
Ameleto was my father. He was at war in the desert of Libya, while his uncle was at home doing a fascist, but the leaders did not know what to do with another almost illiterate. The only received the promotion in July 1943. And he, in his great ingenuity, in his infinite ignorance agreed to become foreman. The following you can imagine ...
My father was captured by the British after El Alamein and he told me that this was one of his greatest fortunes. Not only in captivity had learned a new language, a new discipline, a new way of seeing things. His fortune was not to return to Italy, at that precise moment, after that defeat.
is likely to go to all Salò .
When my dad spoke of betrayal was one of the leading experts in the field , none better than he knew the meaning of the word betray. No one like him had been betrayed so without betraying, even without having the strength.
One evening during a dinner at the restaurant there was a guest at our table (some friend's boyfriend) who tried to show off.
When the waiter asked us if we wanted red or white wine shouted to the whole table:
"I'll take the black wine, because for me the wine is black, because they are fascist!"
The desperate father looked at him smiling and said
"What year are you?"
"I am 40"
(Are not even have to answer six fascist who gives of her.)
"Look, you can not be fascist because I am in 1921 and was urtimo the ... "
Father died twenty years ago in a lane of big hospital close to home. That night, four died in that room. That night service had mounted an angel of death absentee, a little 'lazy, did not really want to go around killing.
"that night I was the urtimo "
35 days and a few seconds if you do not change anything in my life, almost a bet. While they are still before the red comes up to me a big motorbike green, glossy high discharges, but roaring music. Visor obscured, on the white helmet is a black writing: I do not care .
My dad and my uncle were fascists.
Father had stopped to young fascist , had no passport because she was too young, but his uncle had made the march on Rome. He had arrived late, he was a bit 'after, it was also a bit' lost, but there was.
He called it "the 'German'. Not because he was disciplined or blond, because he attacked when he wrote the words, as in the German grammar.
Dear Ameleto sperotivada Tuttobene. Good system here. Tornavincitore. Faliero Giardi
Ameleto was my father. He was at war in the desert of Libya, while his uncle was at home doing a fascist, but the leaders did not know what to do with another almost illiterate. The only received the promotion in July 1943. And he, in his great ingenuity, in his infinite ignorance agreed to become foreman. The following you can imagine ...
My father was captured by the British after El Alamein and he told me that this was one of his greatest fortunes. Not only in captivity had learned a new language, a new discipline, a new way of seeing things. His fortune was not to return to Italy, at that precise moment, after that defeat.
is likely to go to all Salò .
When my dad spoke of betrayal was one of the leading experts in the field , none better than he knew the meaning of the word betray. No one like him had been betrayed so without betraying, even without having the strength.
One evening during a dinner at the restaurant there was a guest at our table (some friend's boyfriend) who tried to show off.
When the waiter asked us if we wanted red or white wine shouted to the whole table:
"I'll take the black wine, because for me the wine is black, because they are fascist!"
The desperate father looked at him smiling and said
"What year are you?"
"I am 40"
(Are not even have to answer six fascist who gives of her.)
"Look, you can not be fascist because I am in 1921 and was urtimo the ... "
Father died twenty years ago in a lane of big hospital close to home. That night, four died in that room. That night service had mounted an angel of death absentee, a little 'lazy, did not really want to go around killing.
"that night I was the urtimo "
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