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Libeccio (VII) polyester

The stone hits the polished glass of the soul of a man dressed as a successful lawyer is lethal. Years of slow cooking, customs, security, nothing wrong, of moments lined up suddenly lost between the cutting edges of the web that a collision has drawn on the glass. The stone is a thin woman, blond-white sitting on a cot, tied to a drip hanging on a pole. The stone blocks the thoughts and the air seems to not want to enter the lungs of all present: the lanky lawyer, the cop bitter, the Director of jay to paura.Poi, as in every waking from a strange dream, a few syllables emerge: "Silvana ... are you?". The eyes are an identity card expired, but not false. The smile, or what seems a smile confirms. If the manager thinks we can not explain how a woman in those conditions was able to jump out of bed in the neck of the lawyer. He only knows that now the two hugged each other and looks amazed at the stupid face of the policeman with a hand gun in the holster. The director explains that pain is not unknown in the chest, like something heavy, metal, which sinks into the flesh and does not hurt, but gives weight to that which penetrates the blood that makes lead precipitates, coagulates, it stops. What you see is foreign to his mind, but perhaps it has heard some time in his life. The cop does not recognize the woman is not to come to his office months before. That was the number one public danger, This has short hair, thin arms and exudes dolore.L 'lawyer does not think, no more. Now there is George, and he lacks the strength to shake that memory that has arms. Only the smell is amazingly the same and is the smell that says that this is real, real, even the drip-drip that comes out of the southwest wind, which is waiting for his wife, who parked the car at 'corner of the court, this morning he woke up in a house where her children are asleep. But who cares now that the little hands of Silvana's shaking his cheeks? And if you kiss her? How important can have her life right now?

"Lawyer ... lawyer ...." The voice is the cop, but the face is that of a sorry existence. "Lady lawyer ... ... please ... we need to talk ... ... Mrs. De Stefani lawyer?"

Anger Forgot dating of the lawyer as vomiting, stomach kept for long, but Silvana's hands slipping from his face shaking his hands, guiding him toward the bed.

"Come on George, the Commissioner is here to talk ... we talk ...." The vomit returns home, still buried, perhaps forever. The lawyer anesthetized sits on the couch, holding hands with Ciccia and waits.

"Yes ... we are talking about."

director closes the door, leaving blood and his teeth to bite his lower lip as he passes in front of the warders at attention. The blood drip on the chin, and disappears into the shadows of a corridor, leaving behind the sound of footsteps and the footsteps of his aftershave from an official visit.

Good Template For Vuze

Libeccio (VII) polyester

The stone hits the polished glass of the soul of a man dressed as a successful lawyer is lethal. Years of slow cooking, customs, security, nothing wrong, of moments lined up suddenly lost between the cutting edges of the web that a collision has drawn on the glass. The stone is a thin woman, blond-white sitting on a cot, tied to a drip hanging on a pole. The stone blocks the thoughts and the air seems to not want to enter the lungs of all present: the lanky lawyer, the cop bitter, the Director of jay to paura.Poi, as in every waking from a strange dream, a few syllables emerge: "Silvana ... are you?". The eyes are an identity card expired, but not false. The smile, or what seems a smile confirms. If the manager thinks we can not explain how a woman in those conditions was able to jump out of bed in the neck of the lawyer. He only knows that now the two hugged each other and looks amazed at the stupid face of the policeman with a hand gun in the holster. The director explains that pain is not unknown in the chest, like something heavy, metal, which sinks into the flesh and does not hurt, but gives weight to that which penetrates the blood that makes lead precipitates, coagulates, it stops. What you see is foreign to his mind, but perhaps it has heard some time in his life. The cop does not recognize the woman is not to come to his office months before. That was the number one public danger, This has short hair, thin arms and exudes dolore.L 'lawyer does not think, no more. Now there is George, and he lacks the strength to shake that memory that has arms. Only the smell is amazingly the same and is the smell that says that this is real, real, even the drip-drip that comes out of the southwest wind, which is waiting for his wife, who parked the car at 'corner of the court, this morning he woke up in a house where her children are asleep. But who cares now that the little hands of Silvana's shaking his cheeks? And if you kiss her? How important can have her life right now?

"Lawyer ... lawyer ...." The voice is the cop, but the face is that of a sorry existence. "Lady lawyer ... ... please ... we need to talk ... ... Mrs. De Stefani lawyer?"

Anger Forgot dating of the lawyer as vomiting, stomach kept for long, but Silvana's hands slipping from his face shaking his hands, guiding him toward the bed.

"Come on George, the Commissioner is here to talk ... we talk ...." The vomit returns home, still buried, perhaps forever. The lawyer anesthetized sits on the couch, holding hands with Ciccia and waits.

"Yes ... we are talking about."

director closes the door, leaving blood and his teeth to bite his lower lip as he passes in front of the warders at attention. The blood drip on the chin, and disappears into the shadows of a corridor, leaving behind the sound of footsteps and the footsteps of his aftershave from an official visit.

Watch Family Guy On Ipod Touch

hot (I loved and still love a bitch )

   My mother-in-law is concerned. My mother-in-law thinks I'm crazy.   

   How do I explain that I need it?   

   How do I explain that I do to stay young,   

   but to survive? I need to run.   

   Even today, especially today, on vacation. I have to run even   

   if there is heat. Heat and south. The air has the same   

   consistency of a wet blanket. I run in there in the late   

   Afternoon day of August. Viale Magna   

   Greece, Viale Virgilio, and finally the Waterfront. The sun is low and   

   from the port face hurts me. I'm happy.   

   My mother-in-law thinks it's crazy. Usually I run in parks aesthetic, I run up bulwarks adorned with horse chestnuts.   

   Here I run between the cars, shy dogs and dung and listening to music. A cream of the music.   

   Instead of mingling various types of fish I Bach and Led Zeppelin, AC / DC and Negramaro, Depeche Mode   

   and Pearl Jam. A velvet train. Swing bridge and a little 'shady charitable, but the heat does not pass.   

   A couple runs in the opposite direction. Greeting passed between them as runners. No response. Friendly people, Southern people. I run and sweat.   

   Sudo, but my shirt is 90% polyester and 10% spandex, heat-sealed seams, sweat out, cool on the skin.   

   There was a shirt so buy it now for the soul. Out of the pain and anger in the balance.   

   I'm running for this, I'm running here especially for this. The rhythm of my stroke is smooth, my breath   

   a bit 'less.    I Could Be Wrong, But You Have Been gone since you cast the spell, so break it. I run along      

   the railing and watch the sea many ships anchored, no sail. I was born on the shores of this sea soothing and I   

   learned to sail on a lake of Switzerland. Sailing on Sunday on a Meteor White (Bone   

   cuttlefish name) with a Croatian friend / Turin that my daughter called Lupo Lucio. There should be full   

   sails. "But there is little wind ...." All apologies. Spartan arrogance, but then nothing abs, no courage.   

   Then we are not descendants of those of Thermopylae. We descended from feverfew, young virgins.   

   Laity, motherfuckers out of the house. This place has been their refuge. Forcing his hand to history   

   etymology and we are close relatives of Christ. It goes without saying that touches being put on the cross. Too many thoughts, I   

   laugh. That's it. I run, I run, I think to run. There is the Turin Marathon in April.   

   My father worked at Fiat, he returned to let me be born in Taranto. I work in Turin on Wednesday and Thursday.   

   Karma circular. I look at the sea as almost thirty years ago when I heard the sirens of Ships and   

   hoped to go far. Done. My race pace is increased. The body has reasons that neither the mind nor the   

   heart knows. I go down to Town Square and now accelerates plan for the next two minutes. The   

  Paul Newman  color of the sea is the same eye of my daughter. Sea of \u200b\u200bColor in September to Tramontone.   

   I think in code, a few initiates can understand. That particular color is a recessive trait revealed between   

   the rice fields, hidden in brown guinea dominant than mine. That color tells stories of travel and violent   

   meetings and matches, as in all places of the sea, but here more. Topaz impregnated in the future. I saw many eyes   

   Normans between these lanes. Many bring women-gorgeous amphora, if muted. Here they all stopped to make   

   love. Even my French ancestor derelict. Who knows where it comes from and how many scars on his back.   

   Poor, had decided to stay where everyone hated the French soldiers came as beggars at the controls   

   of a general-writer whose bones were scattered scarring. Why?   Ah, les liaisons dangereuses, perhaps   

   another victim of love?    I'm gonna give you my love Want to Whole Lotta Love   .   An obese yells at me   

   something in dialect. He will live without me, probably. Heat rotten, full of benzene and fish entrails.   

   slow down and get ready to climb del Vasto.  Even flow, thoughts arrive like butterflies. The new bridge    

   swivel, I'm tired. I do not focus on rhythm. I think too much, do not go, run. Invelenito cold   

   love. All have arrived and have been spotted here. E 'fault light. I have traveled 44,000 kilometers and   

   I've never seen a light so strong, benign, alive. I went on. I could not go. Marked   

   mobile DNA. It follows from travelers, I belong to the sea. Always the same, always different, always   

   movement, still crossed by deep currents. I can not sit still, I'm running, travel. Villa Peripato,   

   platforms destroyed in the shadow of the wall that hides a few gray ships. I know people who were born and lived   

   in the same neighborhood. I (we) are perhaps (we are) happier (i). Perhaps we have lived more. We   

   know other gardeners. We know what our past has been destroyed. We   semi though.     

    All I ever wanted, all I ever needed, is here in my arms, Words Are Very Unnecessary, They can only harm.      

   I am happy to race here. As a Brethren meeting Mellone run to the car, then via Cesare Battisti. When I get     

   home, I will remove my shirt. It will be full of polyester hot sirocco and thoughts. My mother-in-law thinks it   

   crazy. Maybe he's right. Yes, quite right, but will never know. It accelerates the pace, I can now, now I have to. I go home,   

   I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming ...     

Watch Family Guy On Ipod Touch

hot (I loved and still love a bitch )

   My mother-in-law is concerned. My mother-in-law thinks I'm crazy.   

   How do I explain that I need it?   

   How do I explain that I do to stay young,   

   but to survive? I need to run.   

   Even today, especially today, on vacation. I have to run even   

   if there is heat. Heat and south. The air has the same   

   consistency of a wet blanket. I run in there in the late   

   Afternoon day of August. Viale Magna   

   Greece, Viale Virgilio, and finally the Waterfront. The sun is low and   

   from the port face hurts me. I'm happy.   

   My mother-in-law thinks it's crazy. Usually I run in parks aesthetic, I run up bulwarks adorned with horse chestnuts.   

   Here I run between the cars, shy dogs and dung and listening to music. A cream of the music.   

   Instead of mingling various types of fish I Bach and Led Zeppelin, AC / DC and Negramaro, Depeche Mode   

   and Pearl Jam. A velvet train. Swing bridge and a little 'shady charitable, but the heat does not pass.   

   A couple runs in the opposite direction. Greeting passed between them as runners. No response. Friendly people, Southern people. I run and sweat.   

   Sudo, but my shirt is 90% polyester and 10% spandex, heat-sealed seams, sweat out, cool on the skin.   

   There was a shirt so buy it now for the soul. Out of the pain and anger in the balance.   

   I'm running for this, I'm running here especially for this. The rhythm of my stroke is smooth, my breath   

   a bit 'less.    I Could Be Wrong, But You Have Been gone since you cast the spell, so break it. I run along      

   the railing and watch the sea many ships anchored, no sail. I was born on the shores of this sea soothing and I   

   learned to sail on a lake of Switzerland. Sailing on Sunday on a Meteor White (Bone   

   cuttlefish name) with a Croatian friend / Turin that my daughter called Lupo Lucio. There should be full   

   sails. "But there is little wind ...." All apologies. Spartan arrogance, but then nothing abs, no courage.   

   Then we are not descendants of those of Thermopylae. We descended from feverfew, young virgins.   

   Laity, motherfuckers out of the house. This place has been their refuge. Forcing his hand to history   

   etymology and we are close relatives of Christ. It goes without saying that touches being put on the cross. Too many thoughts, I   

   laugh. That's it. I run, I run, I think to run. There is the Turin Marathon in April.   

   My father worked at Fiat, he returned to let me be born in Taranto. I work in Turin on Wednesday and Thursday.   

   Karma circular. I look at the sea as almost thirty years ago when I heard the sirens of Ships and   

   hoped to go far. Done. My race pace is increased. The body has reasons that neither the mind nor the   

   heart knows. I go down to Town Square and now accelerates plan for the next two minutes. The   

  Paul Newman  color of the sea is the same eye of my daughter. Sea of \u200b\u200bColor in September to Tramontone.   

   I think in code, a few initiates can understand. That particular color is a recessive trait revealed between   

   the rice fields, hidden in brown guinea dominant than mine. That color tells stories of travel and violent   

   meetings and matches, as in all places of the sea, but here more. Topaz impregnated in the future. I saw many eyes   

   Normans between these lanes. Many bring women-gorgeous amphora, if muted. Here they all stopped to make   

   love. Even my French ancestor derelict. Who knows where it comes from and how many scars on his back.   

   Poor, had decided to stay where everyone hated the French soldiers came as beggars at the controls   

   of a general-writer whose bones were scattered scarring. Why?   Ah, les liaisons dangereuses, perhaps   

   another victim of love?    I'm gonna give you my love Want to Whole Lotta Love   .   An obese yells at me   

   something in dialect. He will live without me, probably. Heat rotten, full of benzene and fish entrails.   

   slow down and get ready to climb del Vasto.  Even flow, thoughts arrive like butterflies. The new bridge    

   swivel, I'm tired. I do not focus on rhythm. I think too much, do not go, run. Invelenito cold   

   love. All have arrived and have been spotted here. E 'fault light. I have traveled 44,000 kilometers and   

   I've never seen a light so strong, benign, alive. I went on. I could not go. Marked   

   mobile DNA. It follows from travelers, I belong to the sea. Always the same, always different, always   

   movement, still crossed by deep currents. I can not sit still, I'm running, travel. Villa Peripato,   

   platforms destroyed in the shadow of the wall that hides a few gray ships. I know people who were born and lived   

   in the same neighborhood. I (we) are perhaps (we are) happier (i). Perhaps we have lived more. We   

   know other gardeners. We know what our past has been destroyed. We   semi though.     

    All I ever wanted, all I ever needed, is here in my arms, Words Are Very Unnecessary, They can only harm.      

   I am happy to race here. As a Brethren meeting Mellone run to the car, then via Cesare Battisti. When I get     

   home, I will remove my shirt. It will be full of polyester hot sirocco and thoughts. My mother-in-law thinks it   

   crazy. Maybe he's right. Yes, quite right, but will never know. It accelerates the pace, I can now, now I have to. I go home,   

   I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming ...     

Lip Piercing And Canker Sore

Libeccio (VI)

Alfa that is parking in the courtyard of the prison is red, without a copricerchione and some bruising. A policeman, for sure. The Director of the prison for an hour waiting for the arrival of a couple of visitors to Di Stefano.

The red car reflected in the eyes of the Director tickles your thoughts.

"I would have preferred that he got a hearse or an 'ambulance. That poor woman is dying, and if you did not die under interrogation in recent months is a miracle. You must be very cold to make the director of a prison like this. We must think and forget to pretend not to be alive. Di Stefano was a symbol for many people in recent years, a hope. Simply, there are things that you should not even think about. I wanted to help her. Maybe this attorney will do it, let them know what is secret. That's it. Think of these things is dangerous, may emerge in the words and then I finished. "

The intercom rings in the Director. "Doctor, the lawyer arrived with Mr Di Stefano Montroni ..."

"bring them up, I'll take them"

The lawyer and the cop go up the narrow stairs and dark wing of the offices the prison. Commissioner Montroni left in his gun case and feels naked. The lawyer holds the handle of her purse and tries not to think. It is cold. The jailer who escorted them has little desire to climb the stairs, he hunched shoulders and drag the foot leaving a trail of stench of sweat that cries out to both the wind in the courtyard where they left the car. Just dall'Alfa declined the lawyer raised his head and closed his eyes to sniff the air. The inspector noticed it: "Something wrong?"

"Nothing is coming ... a southwest wind, feel the air." The Commissioner looked at the blue sky with high clouds and torn, and he thought it did not never seen a lawyer sniff the air like a truffle hound or a fisherman. What a strange world! He does not know exactly why, but the lanky, well dressed begins to seem more acceptable as a partner in an absurd morning's work.

The warden knocks on a door and enters becoming clear by now. Man standing next to a clear desk is the director. And 'a man not very tall, olive complexion and hair too dark for his age. "Good morning, Antonio Iodice, the prison ... you wait ... I guess now we want to meet our guest?"

Handshakes fast, looks fast, quick thinking, almost afraid to say the least, to think more. Such as the Advocate:

"Your guest? Guest? What the fuck says this ... "

" Please make my way there. " Commissioner Advocate follow in the wake of aftershave brand used abundantly for the occasion and perhaps through dark corridors and pools of light stops. The clang of metal hinged accompanies them, but no voice and draws them down into the bowels of the prison to find the last door of the last corridor. The lawyer feels to slip into something that is not prepared and would beside someone, maybe a friend, but next to where that cop is just in front of hostile words "Absite verbis offending him, of course ... but it is a criminal a thug ... do not you think? And let's face it .... " The director fills the corridors of chatter, like a child frightened before a vaccination needle about staving off the fatal moment. The trio performed at right angles into a new corridor, the women's section C, maximum safety, a single cell, three women in uniform sitting at a table. One reads a magazine, another Knittel last smokes looking at the ceiling. The instruments of work disappear so quickly that the commissioner is not sure of seeing them. Boredom slips away from the female faces and the last gate creaks.

In that cell down the hall are segregated Silvana thoughts of touching the walls dirty floating, flying on the ceiling full of spiders' nests and fall on the unmade bed on which a small white-blonde woman is sitting with the legs attached to the body and hands that caress the green sheets with large poppies were painted. The thoughts jump to the barred window and try to look out, but outside there is only a gray wall, then fall into the cell and sit next to the woman.

"If I do not move do not feel bad. If I do not move it's alright. Spending time sitting here, back to the wall and I get lost where no one can reach me. They can keep me here for as long as they want, so I'm not there. I lost the better part of me and I was left with the pain, but if I'm still do not feel it. I follow the path of the ray of sunlight that pours from the window above. And 'the finger of God that draws upon my soul. Draw the roads I crossed and I do not dirty the soles of most shoes. Hours I'm still here and I go very far, but the pain does not follow me. If I do not move I do not suffer, I forget myself. I will not forget you, though. Then I feel the pain I feel all together and you drown, but the secret is not moving even in these moments, still, still. Where the hell is calling me, I'm still not run away and look into the light where only I know to move. I do not ever wonder when it will end, maybe today, maybe ever, I feel no more time, I remain motionless and not feel pain. I think someone will come today and you came along. You and all the pain to escape from.

Today someone will come and it will all end. So let's enjoy this peace and walk the streets of God "

The last lock makes its voice heard and exhausted surrender by opening the cell door of Silvana, his last hole.