Monday, June 25, 2007

Women's Submission Wrestling

Post No. 100

E 'on a Saturday in the wind in this corner of earth Lomellina, scathing enough to chase away the dog days of June and temporarily numb the skin gently discovery.
I do not want to go hear the group that makes the cover of the Rolling Stones.
Vago some 'stray aimlessly through streets that cut through fields of rice spaced from unripe corn, while the echo of laughter still echoes a call just finished grinding in my ears.
Those laughs are already too far away. Far too
.
But I was glad to hear, on this Saturday animals.
The car travels up under the clear gaze of a bright moon, which, thanks to the blush of the wind you feel more beautiful and reflection in the River. David
tonight is the service for a flamenco show.
I almost go to see him.
Check that the show is almost over, I barely have time to see a group of children who climb their little fingers on their keyboards, classical guitars, and I remember when I started playing classical guitar unwrapped because he had the handle is too big for my fingers minute. So I threw myself on the acoustic, so much pain and calluses harder because of the metal strings.
was long ago.
Now the weather beats a dancer more apparent safety of his 18 years, looks unlikely that runs toward the audience.
The show ends and the credits begin to watermelons and hunting, while David snuffed a whim because of the general's blew up two lights and a dimmer.
not have much time to speak, is worried to see what has happened to her jewelry and tells me that absolutely must find Allen.
be alone for a while ', with the look that flickers here and there for the theater. The look is to find one without looking. Someone stares at me with suspicion as to wonder what I'm doing. If you ask me the wrong answer, because I could not give an answer.
The dancer fell from the stage and returned to his clothing order, gives me an occasional glance. Perhaps he believes too much in his side.
Meanwhile, David Torn, trafelatissimo, with its own set of allen. Am his assistant, more psychological than electric, and carefully unscrew the eight metal rods that protect the power circuit of the lamp. Here comes the delicate wires as a surgeon, hoping that the fuse has done its duty, namely to burn to protect the rest. The His hope is realized, the first lamp is safe. Thanks to a small object very easy and cheap.
I greet him making a "good luck" for the remaining equipment. He, lifted, thanks and promises that next time I will have more time to talk and, perhaps, to play something together.
Homecoming between straight and deserted streets, always accompanied by the curious gaze of the moon Spying, and I wonder what's so interesting to watch in this tight corner Off Lomellina.

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