Parcheggio l'auto.
Non sei ancora arrivato.
Quante volte abbiamo parlato su quella panchina davanti a me per ore e ore, con le chiacchiere fino a tirare su il sole da dietro quella vecchia scuola. Far mattino è una delle nostre specialità.
Una cosa che mi ricordo sempre è quando, alcune mattine, un soffio di tramontana ci portava l'odore del pane. Non so perché, è un bell'odore da associare a due vecchi ragazzi che ridono con gli occhi gonfi e rossi di sonno, scavati dalle occhiaie e che continuano a ridere ancora o a raccontarsi storie vissute e un po' troppo depresse. Non che facesse differenza. L'odore del pane è l'odore del pane.
Scendo. Lo sportello sbatte alle mie spalle e il click della chiusura centralizzata m'insegue mentre mi allontano di un paio di passi.
Accendo una sigaretta comprata al distributore automatico della stazione di benzina all'ingresso del paese. Mi ha fregato venti centesimi. Bestemmiamo contro il proprietario? L'abbiamo fatto spesso. Sorrido.
Quanti anni sono che ci conosciamo? Non li ho contati, non ne ho avuto il tempo, non credevo ce ne fosse bisogno. Ora vorrei scrivere un numero però. Così, per sapere dove comincia e dove può finire un'amicizia, to set limits, stakes, not to dare more.
The reality is that they are too proud to admit that they have overcome that edge. The reality is that you are shit out of the jar too and I have come to trample that shit, do not clean up everything. This time, no, I do not know if I can. I can not. I tried to explain why. It 's always been easy to save your ass one another. We were good friends. The dirty laundry lavavamo them at home.
I understand what the hell goes through your head.
I once was simpler. Start a sentence and I continued as you knew that I would continue, rubandoti the words of my mouth. Then you ended up you, the way I thought was right. Exactly what you think. It was a question of quality. And down laughing.
I know you say what's wrong with me and you, my friend, but we would not know how to finish sentences or listen to, where to end up with predicates.
Sometimes I do not understand. It 'not listening. Do not listen to you. We are two cynical bastards kicked a stone away and smile. And 'one of those round stones which form the space for the rides, since they rifetto this square. E 'deserted tonight. Just a couple of dogs that chase. I call them, but no longer. This dream is a bit 'sad.
parking almost in front of the pizzeria. I do not know why, but that there were no seats left, just a couple of cars. Parking at the Clio a certain distance maybe. Loop to close, you still have not adjusted the lock and I do not think you intend to do so. I wonder how you managed to get it going that dear old mill.
The air is denser than usual, do not you think? We look
bit 'still, without looking, to bask in this atmosphere of the time already lived.
Then you approach with that a little 'do not care, trying not to laugh, as do children who know they have commeesso a prank for which they are not scolded, maybe even discovered. "That ass face!" I'm thinking, then I would hug you, but mine is a sad dream.
swinging a moment in front of me, we look to greet us. You chuckled to yourself. And I make a meager smile, because you still know what you're thinking, or at least have some hypothesis. You're doing the same.
You sit down.
dogs approaching a few feet, we turn around, go away.
I would tell you that you're an asshole. I would say, "Oh, com ', sometimes you're just a shit." And then laugh about it. But I know I'm dreaming, because they are in that part of the dream between waking and sleeping. That part where the dreams you can decide how they end up. And I know how it ends and I did not want to talk. Would you say that I exaggerate a bit '. You would be right. I think too much, sometimes with the heart, sometimes m'impunto. Sometimes you just unnecessary wars turn people away. Then you wonder how you're doing to become a cold heart, I seek a way to not get kicked in the face.
'm pissed off, turn off the alarm and pulled me up. Sigh. It should not be all too well.
Non sei ancora arrivato.
Quante volte abbiamo parlato su quella panchina davanti a me per ore e ore, con le chiacchiere fino a tirare su il sole da dietro quella vecchia scuola. Far mattino è una delle nostre specialità.
Una cosa che mi ricordo sempre è quando, alcune mattine, un soffio di tramontana ci portava l'odore del pane. Non so perché, è un bell'odore da associare a due vecchi ragazzi che ridono con gli occhi gonfi e rossi di sonno, scavati dalle occhiaie e che continuano a ridere ancora o a raccontarsi storie vissute e un po' troppo depresse. Non che facesse differenza. L'odore del pane è l'odore del pane.
Scendo. Lo sportello sbatte alle mie spalle e il click della chiusura centralizzata m'insegue mentre mi allontano di un paio di passi.
Accendo una sigaretta comprata al distributore automatico della stazione di benzina all'ingresso del paese. Mi ha fregato venti centesimi. Bestemmiamo contro il proprietario? L'abbiamo fatto spesso. Sorrido.
Quanti anni sono che ci conosciamo? Non li ho contati, non ne ho avuto il tempo, non credevo ce ne fosse bisogno. Ora vorrei scrivere un numero però. Così, per sapere dove comincia e dove può finire un'amicizia, to set limits, stakes, not to dare more.
The reality is that they are too proud to admit that they have overcome that edge. The reality is that you are shit out of the jar too and I have come to trample that shit, do not clean up everything. This time, no, I do not know if I can. I can not. I tried to explain why. It 's always been easy to save your ass one another. We were good friends. The dirty laundry lavavamo them at home.
I understand what the hell goes through your head.
I once was simpler. Start a sentence and I continued as you knew that I would continue, rubandoti the words of my mouth. Then you ended up you, the way I thought was right. Exactly what you think. It was a question of quality. And down laughing.
I know you say what's wrong with me and you, my friend, but we would not know how to finish sentences or listen to, where to end up with predicates.
Sometimes I do not understand. It 'not listening. Do not listen to you. We are two cynical bastards kicked a stone away and smile. And 'one of those round stones which form the space for the rides, since they rifetto this square. E 'deserted tonight. Just a couple of dogs that chase. I call them, but no longer. This dream is a bit 'sad.
parking almost in front of the pizzeria. I do not know why, but that there were no seats left, just a couple of cars. Parking at the Clio a certain distance maybe. Loop to close, you still have not adjusted the lock and I do not think you intend to do so. I wonder how you managed to get it going that dear old mill.
The air is denser than usual, do not you think? We look
bit 'still, without looking, to bask in this atmosphere of the time already lived.
Then you approach with that a little 'do not care, trying not to laugh, as do children who know they have commeesso a prank for which they are not scolded, maybe even discovered. "That ass face!" I'm thinking, then I would hug you, but mine is a sad dream.
swinging a moment in front of me, we look to greet us. You chuckled to yourself. And I make a meager smile, because you still know what you're thinking, or at least have some hypothesis. You're doing the same.
You sit down.
dogs approaching a few feet, we turn around, go away.
I would tell you that you're an asshole. I would say, "Oh, com ', sometimes you're just a shit." And then laugh about it. But I know I'm dreaming, because they are in that part of the dream between waking and sleeping. That part where the dreams you can decide how they end up. And I know how it ends and I did not want to talk. Would you say that I exaggerate a bit '. You would be right. I think too much, sometimes with the heart, sometimes m'impunto. Sometimes you just unnecessary wars turn people away. Then you wonder how you're doing to become a cold heart, I seek a way to not get kicked in the face.
'm pissed off, turn off the alarm and pulled me up. Sigh. It should not be all too well.
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