... and tell me a little more 'than that this time he went out with, yes, "looked like a guy all right and good" and then you yelled at bassavoce, to suck his penis ... because those were times that came out ... Your talk out of time and space that already touched the supercelestial of jobs that go away ... And I still speak with those who say that it is good that politicians are blacks and young people who are graduates and tanned and well, and know how things are going in the Middle East where there's nothing to eat and to understand there was never a dried fig ... and talk of your eighteen years and what you see among the people around you and look at you and you're offered a drink from behind the glass of their canes phrases and respectability ... and still wonder if it is true that there is a God and there is a church and if it is more correct to speak of cash and stock, or if there is still at stake and a great idea or just to die for ...... and while you earn travel time on a strange machine that I'm here, with the My uniformly accelerated motion in search of a current speed that not even a camera or a professor of physics able to theorize, but January is already over, another month started, and already can see another day, another sun or maybe just another night, another frost and possibly snow and talk ...... which is in the cold city streets less among those covered by the breasts of the arcades and shops where they exit from the bourgeois-proletarian committed to give bread to a singer or a bum ... And you tell me the business plan of the premises and never too full and glen of that grant that made you exceed the limit of alcohol in the veins that stopicciano within you to carry the liquid and then dispose of it and escaped a fine suit of blue overalls of the workers is not, can not live in a mortar and is a puppet of the country jail where you can not kill your vital organs ... or touch her ass and my dick to another man without that does not arouse the malevolent gaze of a believer, or the annoyance of a lover ... and talk of a tomorrow and a Saturday and forgotten forever today, of now, the time and this ... and forget a Disamistade incongruous with the feeling back and smile in front of her and loves her ... And talk of redundancies, and The owners, and industrial and wages that have and those who do not have redundancy, and integriamoci communion on Sunday morning in front of the television to hear two experts speak divorced silly concepts of physical theories that SFOR beyond the physical books of 'AristoteleE talk of Plato and Galileo's ideas and let go, the inertia and galleys ... And let me touch your bottom, and still talk to your body and your skills prenatal, and let me play with it, at least with fantasy, and then go on ... and still listens to a song from the landfill, caught by chance in the cassette player of your uncle or your turntable nonnoe returns to read the subsoil and its inhabitants described by a Russian who now leads me to the Russian, while I wake up maybe I have better things to do than listen to him. .. And tell me again what the fuck you have to do and what you can never tell my grandchildren or my daughter, you do not think there is, but if you're there, never forget, never forget the words, and life of the street output, cigarettes left there in half of the cue of wax from my grandfather, the smoke of his friend's stick, the glass of Glen Grant of a poet, of the wake, the tail of a comet .. Do not ever forget the night, good night ...
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