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MODEL



Today I met a player model.
was, objectively, a model: tall, sculpted biceps, a forehead that Wittgenstein's stubborn abdominal plates, green eyes, red lips but nietzsche garcia marquez, even a dimple on his chin, and a suspicion of ravel, perhaps woven a bossa nova, or a song by Paolo Conte, in curls.

I looked at her and said: "Is that you, my player model? ".
he has become just turned, and now had the face of my colleague, the one that runs down the web to cheat on his wife without her noticing, not even him.
I approached in two steps and he is smaller, and as such seemed to my mother, who only knows the address of my blog and would like to show it to her friends, as he did with my diapers. But she was beginning to change: suddenly it was my ex, professor and suffering from hair loss and nostalgia, it was my best friend, was a blogger in Piacenza with whom we exchange jokes against the government.
Horrified, I began to run, and he followed me - he had a smart race, but caracollante, but fluid but lame - and I said: "But you who raised me, and now I'm yours, are tuoooooo ...".

No, then I woke up. I wrote a post, though.

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a blue line



City on Monday, opaque and slightly behind in on itself. Outside the library
a clown, a real clown, motionless in the rain: In one hand he has a booklet with a blue Botticelli just exploded (entitled "The girl, a clown and Florence", author Matteo Abbate, editor Armando Siciliano, necklace young authors). With the other indicates the book. The rain line
round glasses. Every now and then change your position, I think to drain water from the other sleeve.

made a couple of laps through the shelves - Today a flight of peregrine falcon - I look at the little book: there are three stories. The indices are always a good sign, especially when they lie: "The girl, Florence and the Clown," "And when you return?" Night at Bacchus Ortigia ". Add
first and last sentence - when do the sales pitch of a book for yourself are basic operations - "Run away. In my life I've always been, and this time I run," "She was young, curly hair and a branch of lives around the arm, Rice's puffed out his cheeks in purple. Bacco Him. "

Esco with the book and I can not help but show, indicate excessive as he does makes me a bow and a smile objectively complicit. A short blue wire joins us for a moment, then swerves and fly to the sky in the towel.

Good.
I remember that I bought, in fact, I looked at that book because I saw the clown out of the door. I, the girl, he is the clown and a city for endless technical reasons can not be said Florence.
A little 'as is the case here: the author is on the threshold - resistant to rain, clear, posing - which often prompts me to take a post-sided look, leave a blue wire in the comments.

not always agree. But sometimes, yes.