A Country for Old Men
Sunday, August 2 10:30
I wake up and decide to drink a cappuccino coffee Colleoni, Vox and because the 'closed.
I Wear warm: flip-flops, shorts and tank top. 10 breakfasts with my card I board for the center of Bergamo, if I were in a holiday village.
And they are.
distracted by the echo of my straw slippers on the pavement of Sentierone, I see two basic details of late that should not exist:
- too many human beings into service for the city average Sunday
- anyone who has not seen war
She looked at a glance and I am baffled.
Under the trees I see a gang of over 60 gathered around the benches, gutters like crows merry defecate. Across the street I notice that the green takes an eternity '... and not just because the members are tired of this side of the road and there have been dragging on arthritic knees slower than Zombie Sam Raimi, so I turn to the arcades and I see couples season support each other to avoid the ice cream cone Balzer, counter cholesterol in hand.
Suddenly I find myself on the edge of reality, my namesake, the architect designed the bell tower of the old common form of Tesseract as open-and-Heinlein in the story of opening a breach in the fourth dimension that takes us all to Tenerife.
It 's a fuckin country for old men.
shades of gray and white hair covering their entire color scale palette in Photoshop, their raucous laughter, their wooden clubs and steel suspenders riluccicano the glow of this sunny morning. Everywhere looks resigned hover near death.
Accelero step towards bar and I realize that I stand out like a cheetah into a herd of leprechauns. Youth and 'been sucked away from these places like the fat in a liposux.
Even at the lake which the Moroccans have abandoned their posts to give way to shop for pensioners with their bags of feed. The Romanian
carers, as always parked in the mass Donizetti, are more minority than usual.
The pastries at the bar are all in place, the butter a public enemy. I grab a croissant and the waitress recognized me thirty. He never spoke, but greets me warmly.
It 's a gesture that denotes despair, almost felt my platelets work under perfect on my system gioisse of cardiovascular and found membership in a social group that knows no skin drying out.
Another black mark on the tiles of my subscription and I'm leaving. Fleeting glance at the tables, the Cardioaspirin is measured in buckets.
Everything suggests premeditation and clustered recurrence in this community 'senile.
First, space events nelllo Piazza Dante, in concert there is' the combination bands of Bergamo. Trombones, cymbals and xylophones that punctuate jingle from the menu on Sky in the comfortable shelter of a tent and property of PVC. Why risk the collapse from heat, when you can collect all the bands together without having to follow in the procession?!
technology once again prevent the extinction of mankind right.
Secondly, the devastation of Sora away, behind the prefecture. A broken cement block and cement mixers that surpassed the work in progress and is' now a full course of work. A site
practically permanent, a carousel of complaint for the elderly. He
-greedy-claws are the safety net of the yard, awaiting the arrival of the team building and anticipating the verbal stoning.
I hasten in the gallery, the stairs shady e. .. mirage! A pair of fresh active population.
One greets me, I admit, and 'my neighbor's shop with orthopedics. How sad
lavorare la domenica.
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