How Often Should You Get A Brazilian

The choice of ham today is important. Very important and especially difficult.

I was just shifting between spicy, smoked, more or less fat, polyphosphates, etc., etc., when Mrs. Amelia I knocked on the shoulder. "He felt bad thing?". In a short time at the counter of cold cuts (where, modestly, I enjoy a certain prestige) has formed a knot. The "bad thing" was the discovery of the body of a girl in Bergamo. They asked me to give an opinion on this ugly thing. But I could not give him anything more than an impotent extended arms.

Everything from then on, it was ugly. What an ugly afternoon. Bad enough to finish in the rain. They found the body, "that bad", I have repeated Adelmo Caramel and the Moroccan Brunin, my wife, my eight year old daughter. How ugly. Bad for the parents of that poor girl, bad for us all.

To go home I took advantage the waterfront at sunset, I always try the last light, the most beautiful. The softer, which colors the sea of \u200b\u200bgreen and blue. That light that can color the sea of \u200b\u200bthe color of antique gold. I usually stop for a moment to take all that light for me. In the distance you can see the lamps of fishing boats. None. Just me and the golden light. Some anglers is supplied by the rocks, remnants of igneous incredible time. None. Some crab plugged hard to sit at home, even if the night begins to advance. None. Some cheap condom wrapper. None. Usually I'm fine with sharing the sunset with their characters and objects from the sea in winter. But today is all bad. Annoyingly bad. All characters in this picture are still stuck with the sad one.

I realized that that sunset I was no good, that what I had to do was go back to where I had come, bringing with me a little of the weight of that ugliness. And try to do something. Like for example, pray. So I went to a nearby chapel, the only one I know. The narrow space was occupied by an old woman. Without needing too many words, he looked at me and said "that bad, what an ugly thing." He joined a bricklayer. He asked for news. It was leaning against the railing to the ground and supported the bucket of mortar. He asked for a light. We smoked a cigarette together. Both supported, as vagabonds existentialists. It could be a good scene, but everything was horribly ugly and monochrome.

Ugly is the right word to claim the inevitability of what has happened, a time which can be much, but that can not be the salvation of a young girl. Ugly is how I feel, the lady who prays and the mason who smokes. Bad for the thousands of people who are listening to the radio, watching TV on the Net surfing

Perhaps the beauty of the sunset was for her, the little Yara, although he lived because we did not know anything about her. But this is a particular secondary ...