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Ferragosto, mia madre, aranciata e Gazzetta. Tutti fuori gli strozzati della sorte. E la città è degli altri. Di un distanziato senso di colpa. Pellami policromi con i motori in riserva. Fra loro sdrucciola mia madre. Marea agitata, da troppi urti.
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The tail of my spine touches the cold ground and the curve of my back follows fearfully. The cold burns my skin. Darkness starts creeping into my eyes. Before, I could only see so little; but now, I can see no more. I can no longer stand on my feet. I close my eyes, awaiting the excruciating pain. My ears are buzzing and ringing, like a kettle whistle.
Retape dans le champ ci-dessous la suite de chiffres et de lettres qui apparaissent dans le cadre ci-contre.
Because I was craving so much for food from Mezza Norte, I asked my brother to accompany me.