a state of torpor, the automatic trip. large clouds, white hills, as the first leg, stand over the lane.
winter quilt in the trunk that you have not washed and Bustone blue Ikea. just to kill time, just to think about tomorrow. not the calendar, but what you have in mind. among unanuova esprienza that issues such as you should. even you realize that the magnitude is around the corner.
then suddenly all the races are over, all the things sent back have disappeared. is only the desire to sit on the couch to enjoy this subtle, acidic sense of loss. sottofondoo only in the drumbeat of the Palio and the celebrations for the birthday of Madonna. None of
