The thing was hard to digest, it was obvious. I felt a sharp pain in his right side as soon as I closed the call. Obvious. The doctor told me something about the back and emotional blocks. So much so that I stood with head and stomach in an uproar throughout the morning and there was no way to combine anything. Every action shall not exceed two minutes in length. The thing about the freedom to act, in a sense, something like go into the jungle after ten years at the zoo. As Marty the zebra that wants to take the train to Connecticut. The thing was that the train would have really taken this time. In the evening I km bike, only to reach the center and at least change scenario. Via Torino was empty and unpleasant, as always, the Cathedral unreal, like a play from the fifth stage, two-dimensional and coarse. Turn left to Via Dante. What seemed unbelievable, actually, it was not the thing itself - a story from nothing, of course - but the reaction that I had caused. Idiot I am, clapping his hands on the handlebars and at times took a rail. Idiot and jerk. It took so long to understand? Idiot. A few moments later I was inside the park. The air was cooler than a few degrees and began to not feel the tips of his fingers. Pedalai fast until you reach the other side, the Arch, where I stopped. There were hundreds of kids on the sidewalk, intent on drinking and smoking and to launch sexual references. That's it, nothing more and nothing less. I walked into the room, all crowded. Nail polish with many colors, faces tanned, tight clothes, cell phones that contain entire lives - curious entrust energy of lithium batteries -, full glasses of beer, vodka and tonic, gin and lemon, wine and bad smelling. All came down to this, in fact, everything was a huge and blatant sexual appeal, a large billboard with the word "fuck me now" above a picture of a vagina. There they were two males that shame, here's another one that marks the territory. What was hard to digest all this. Idiot. I went back in the saddle leaving behind the swarm of post-adolescents. Corso Sempione seemed to never end.
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