"When I write I get home this evening," I said three hours ago and I throw the stone and withdraw his hand, not you, is not well. Story: I went to dinner with M. a dear and old friend (I can say since we know from back in 1985) at Serra dei Conti, the Taverna del Corso . Kill that Magna, Jesi jargon used to say that you ate like a goose fattening. For completeness, I tell you what we got:
- Spelt tagliatelle with cicerchia ;
- rolls with bacon, cheese and tomatoes;
- cut with arugula, cherry tomatoes and parmesan;
- fried potatoes;
- a bottle of Lacrima di Morro d'Alba;
- the hot chocolate fondant cake I have tasted only in the mind of one and two because I was too full because the oven M. (Chef and owner of the said local) does not close properly and it seemed rude to expect pigiasse the door for 12min in a row only to remove the whim of the end of dinner. Restaurant cute, soft atmosphere by music in the soft light on the bricks of the vault of the cellar of this century palace. At the table after dinner I are three of the cook / owner and my friend who had sex feelings about people living life as if it were de'noantri gossip habit. Cabbages, I see her almost every day is my neighbor across, but he had not talked with him years and 12-13 years mean not one or two, and probably c 'I talked more tonight than we had ever spoken in my life. Beautiful, beautiful pull out the memories of those summers spent in the courtyard of the church (you know, I used the ACR and poil'ACG, so what?) Sitting on the saddle of the scooters of the males, only two of us girls to fuck happily . To kill Time to toss the water balloon went into the kitchens of the houses with the windows open for the August heat in two on the scooter like a herd of wild buffalo. They ran the years when I thought I could get pregnant with a kiss (I read too many words), I believed that those things that are passed from hand to hand cigarettes were a bit 'strange, just bigger and fragrant. Oh what a beautiful youth, spent in my beloved spy with binoculars from the attic until he realized that time and looks at me with suspicion for some reason, or when you do a ride with another adored and then your father is went to put the car in the garage you see and you think that the police instead understand that it is even worse because you recognize the license plate and know that your summer is over, it was August 12, 1995. These are things that you mark, I remember many things like it was yesterday, and others I have completely deleted. Why? What are the mechanisms of memory that make you remember the smell of your grandmother's stairs the first time that the salt with your legs and not what I ate yesterday? What has this to do with my teenage tragicomic passed between Via De Nicola and Via dei Colli do not know, but I started this post an hour ago and now I lost the thread. Better if I close. What do I salute? But you go, do not like the rude, good night.
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