often do not mistake him more. It costs nothing, but the greeting of the inn Brunin seems to be banned. At least the traditional one. It is replaced by a grunt or a timid onomatopoeic show of hands. Not that we disliked each other. What I say is avoid the classic "How are you?". The answer is always, inevitably, the usual: "How do mean ...». It is almost a code, regulated by the latest adventures. Taxes, influences, there is no work, bureaucracy. The Genoa that does not win ...
We are perpetually angry, in fact. Men and women, beyond the genital conformation (strange, no?). It is not melancholy or sadness or fear, the deepest feelings that require more extensive analysis.
We are angry, a vulgar term that perfectly represent the petty bitterness, the anger we carry when walking we go into a bar, kiosk, small crowds in the streets.
But the question is where does this animosity Italian. Unless you want to philosophize in the manner of most unlucky fellow sufferers, we must admit that there are more money, more health, more holidays of a few decades ago. Anyone who owns a car, a couple of mobile phones, a house more than decent. It must be assumed, then, that this bitterness is unsettled time in the primacy of psychological well-being in relation to material goods. It might. More simply, I think this represents a trend, the latest fashion. It looks like ominously to a "do not give me trouble," "let me go," not sgualcitemi the jacket. " It represents the feeling of those who do not get enough of those who feel cheated by the State permanently, inchiappettato colleagues, fucked by a period ungrateful.
We defend with small bipartisan paranoia to be defeated at all costs: the invasion of Islam, Communism, Berlusconi. Then there are the healthy, consumerism.
But the question "how are you?" Is too important to be liquidated according to the response to headache morning and ended on the last contravention of tax assessments. The conditions of misery and war, oppression and hatred that fill other, more distant districts change our bad mood into a simple daily habit idiot in a scorreggina amid a bustle of jackhammers. Maybe you should think for a moment, only one, the big ass we had to be born here, with the Gulf of Poets at hand and the shantytowns of Caracas away thousands and thousands of miles. That dell'incazzatura perennial, our descendants will be listed as the great Italian states in this part of the period.
Meanwhile time passes and the inn Brunin to enter Caramel, in spite of its name, is a Moroccan street vendor. It has an estimated age of 40 years, four children at home swollen feet from walking too atavistic to satisfy a hunger. He is the only one who violates the rule. Smiles (always) and calls (always) "How are you?". Adelmo answers for all: "How do mean '...
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