Terme.
'm not dead, critters, they are simply going to the spa, only they were those of Civitavecchia. The spa
Ficoncella , name on the origin of which is not investigating (better call them "Terme Taurine"), are not hard to find. I'm at the end of the long and winding road 10 meters from the exit Civitavecchia Nord; after swerved violently, because it is a fucking road you will see the end, you have to get past the goat in the road and to the three shepherd dogs which, in part, will rise as soon as your machine will be up to them to run after and barking at us. Once over the bridge, you will find a gate in front of which, on a table, there are suspicions pecorino cheese and a sign with phone number for those interested in buying them, and - by way 'of postscript - a "AAA wife wanted." Past the gate you are inside. The price is moderate but armed with coins: are € 0.52 per person and machine.
The fact that the baths are so hopelessly lost has its positive sides, as they are small and virtually free: you do not overcrowd. In short, are a haven for locals, which in the case of my experience were all above 50 - and, yes, I know that there are fascinating people over-age, but that was not the case.
There was also a lonely young man came out of a film shot entirely in Italy with foreign production, the classic nice guy from the physical place that you find in the resort and that - when you arrive, looking fearing the army of old men staring at you waiting to see in costume - begins to jump but not too timid, but not too insistent eyes. Being a creature from vacation is not troublesome to you clearly in its interests, especially given the semblance, and then in the middle of the local wildlife seems to be a semi-God fresh out of the Roman pantheon.
Unfortunately, the guy was probably tourists, in turn, on holiday in Italy with the old man full of money - what, then, that after a minute that I was from entry into the bath has made a gesture with his hand, making out and then meekly dressed in his hand with the kind of robe that only a pimp rich with a decadent European tastes could give.
I smiled at the semi-melancholy God weakened by thermal steam, looking to be dragged away from the pig pederast, until - after greeting me in silence with his hand - has not disappeared at a time of three dogs and goat herders.
I later discovered that the salute with the hand is a practice in vogue.
I was in fact a direct train to Rome, stopping at a few stations to look out the window, when a policeman, passing on the dock, he smiled, taking off his hat. Terrified by the act (I'm paranoid, with certain categories - and, no, no facts to justify this), I clung to VB trembling, only to see the cop turn back to get ahead again, and greet me with his hand .
I understand why the German's love so much Italian: it is the taste of being a tourist.
I am committed to do so, as long architect (only do the tourists in Milan I find really difficult), spending a week eating and drinking out every night. I also made retro, feminization old-fashioned for the occasion and making dinner and then offer to VB.
You know, little people, who get paid the dinner by a woman is progressive, if you are a woman too. Indeed, to achieve an orgasm progressive, is one of my projects to keep me from a woman.
But anyway.
In a process of assimilation and a glass of wine I found myself looking at the collection of panama (hats recipe, you this?) original of the famous Uncle D, whose actions I had already been anticipated by many people. Uncle D, it looks like in a worrying way to Mussolini also wanted to give one, but I refused, saying that it will give me when I go to see him in heaven, where South America, from plans, you have to transfer - and then pay us for indigenous and native air with fans, old nostalgic dream of neo-colonialism.
The collection of hats has followed that of spirits of high value, and it all ended with the show the drawer where she keeps her underwear to explain the logical order in which it is placed, an order which eerily resembles mine. In fact I was not sure if envy Uncle D or worship for what it was, making the court a more sophisticated and sinister. Eventually I got out of his house with the white French aperitif liqueur and fresh eggs in the stomach in hand, I now believe that they're rotting somewhere in the fridge of the house of wolves.
House of wolves (which does not abbreviate to "CDL") is located in the middle of a void in New York at the end of an endless road is not illuminated, in a country of 600.
has a plan too far-fetched for me to explain it, and it is unbelievably full of shit mostly grim but also refined. It would indeed make a home on the weekends, that kind of place where all the pictures that end up not convinced you enough, but do not want to throw the furniture that you drag around for generations, the set of dishes, pots, bowls and anything else that your grandfather used to war in Africa and a piano of the nineteenth century that anyone can play. Of course, no heating except that of a stove, puffing stench of kerosene to which diseases you after the first night. Because of the cold that some old ancient walls hold, you should return in the evening after eating only a very moderate amount of alcohol, a practice from which I have never failed in seven days. This resistance must always be part of that legacy that Germany has left me with other things, not well defined, but which certainly exist, because grandfather, retired policeman, asked me after two minutes of conversation if I were German, and - despite all the denials that have been made - is still convinced that I am. The tenacity of old people has something holy.
Obviously, in these parts - even those of the House of wolves - it was fucking hot even when it was cold. Here it is cold enough and, to console and I took advantage of the sales to give a little 'of cloth thrown to my wardrobe.
persists in opting for gray heads, following what has become a religion. I do not know what is in that gray, if the fake coolness of a cable or the suitability of a rat. Sedlacek love the gray, remember? For him it is a matter of appearances to appear anonymously. Horton, however, has gray in it, and is the best roommate that his soul has ever had - or so he says. We conclude with sympathy
talking about you, or that part of the world in recent weeks I have beautiful ignored and continue to ignore for a while '. Not because you're on my dick - that there is always a factor, that I find enjoyable or not, I see you or not - but because, to say something very trivial, I will have free time. About my ignored during the past week, well ... I fuck myself to the Spa in a semi-God from a pig pederast, certain activities are challenging. Now the only activity that I can listen is the study of mad and desperate, which is more despotic the old pederast, because often pretend to be my one and only God - and, to my wanton abandon, is pleased.
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