I was sitting under the balcony of the house and plug the gun racket was misguided attempt to replace the grip, when suddenly I feel that the gate opens and I enter the two courtyard, dressed as gauchos , both with a rose between his teeth, locked in a tango - I think - of Carlos Gardel.
lunfardo greet me in and, after performing a perfect ocho adelante , come home, grab my wife, if the load on his shoulder and run away like hell in the direction of the Lido of Este.
not understand at first, then realized: Oh my God, the two Argentines who met on Facebook!
that Facebook would bring bad luck I suspected for some time, but you could get this, no!
I lean out of the gate, and already in the distance I see two shady characters on them and my wife screams and kicks Olivia like Popeye when she is kidnapped by Bluto.
I immediately organize to pursue them. I go in the room, I pull the shirt out of the drawer jogging, take a pair of shorts, check that the colors are well matched, socks, shoes, cuff, look in the mirror and realize that maybe I'm getting better the yellow shirt . Then better than blacks and gray socks that I also change my shorts. Then I try a gray cuff, but there is: okay, I'll put a band.
I look in the mirror and I look like an Albanian just landed from a rubber boat from the port of Vlora.
I remember all the combinations of clothing, while we are also wearing stopwatch and MP3 player, so I take this opportunity to do some 'training, and rapid delivery to the chase.
the curve Harold realized that I have not closed the door. I go back, I close, I put the keys now you know where , I am going to leave but the phone rings.
My mother. I lose ten minutes to explain that I'm fine, I eat, the sun is shining, the sea sucks etc..: Mom is still Mom. Finally, the division and now the screams of my wife feel very far away, but do not despair.
After the bridge of the first Logonovo individual tracks: two cans of beef expired in 1939. I'm on the right track. At ice cream making Italy one of the roses that I held tight in his mouth, and a hundred meters after stumbling into a bandoneon. Then I see a CD of Astor Piazzola. And a piece of asado a bombilla for mate and a premolar (hey, the kidnapped ... you are defending). We are heading to Porto Garibaldi. Encouraged
, after having a look inside the library The Oaks and the window of Alice Sport, the division of a large career to boarding the ferry on portocanale.
The screams of my wife are getting closer, and I see a cloud of dust down the avenue.
finally reaches them boarding the ferry. They are in front of me, but between we are three people in line. My wife, gagged with a bandana and tied to bellemeglio with a lasso, I launched one peremptory look, as if to say: "What are you waiting, come here, quickly." He spread his arms as if to say that I have in front of people, not I jump on him, a little 'patience and education, by golly!
Meanwhile watch the two South Americans, agitated, rising on the ferry with their backpack on his shoulder screaming, shouting to the driver to set sail: two forms of blood, skinned cats as road, bruised, swollen, stunned by the cries, one without a mustache and one balding, with tufts of dyed hair strewn everywhere. Two scrap, but apparently still determined.
When it's my turn, I get on the ferry, I approach the ticket and realized with dismay that I have no money. Twenty cents separate me from my beloved wife, but unfortunately I have to get off. She strikes me with a look and see uscirle a wisp of smoke from the ears while I understand the gestures that mica can not pay the ferry ticket, be patient and find a solution.
And while I'm there that I evaluate whether it is better to go home, recover and return to this twenty cents or ferry to go to Porto Garibaldi making the rounds on the deck of Romea (go to swim is not talked about, if I want to drink some hydrocarbons, I rather quaff a can kerosene), one of the two desperados leans over the edge of the boat, and after swirl over the heads of bolas, lashes out at me.
I can barely dodge the first two balls, but the third strikes me in the left eye.
I fall with a crash on the platform in a pool of blood.
When I recover, it's too late, and sadly I'm going back home, thinking about my loved one who finds himself lost in a vast and hostile land, perhaps in a hacienda in the middle of the pampas .
But do not despair, it can not end like this. As soon as I finish le ferie e mi sarò ripreso, mi organizzo per bene, magari telefono a Genova per sapere quando salpa il primo piroscafo per Buenos Aires e setaccerò l’Argentina da cima a fondo, finché non l’avrò ritrovata.
Anche se, secondo me, me la rimanderanno indietro prima .
not understand at first, then realized: Oh my God, the two Argentines who met on Facebook!
that Facebook would bring bad luck I suspected for some time, but you could get this, no!
I lean out of the gate, and already in the distance I see two shady characters on them and my wife screams and kicks Olivia like Popeye when she is kidnapped by Bluto.
I immediately organize to pursue them. I go in the room, I pull the shirt out of the drawer jogging, take a pair of shorts, check that the colors are well matched, socks, shoes, cuff, look in the mirror and realize that maybe I'm getting better the yellow shirt . Then better than blacks and gray socks that I also change my shorts. Then I try a gray cuff, but there is: okay, I'll put a band.
I look in the mirror and I look like an Albanian just landed from a rubber boat from the port of Vlora.
I remember all the combinations of clothing, while we are also wearing stopwatch and MP3 player, so I take this opportunity to do some 'training, and rapid delivery to the chase.
the curve Harold realized that I have not closed the door. I go back, I close, I put the keys now you know where , I am going to leave but the phone rings.
My mother. I lose ten minutes to explain that I'm fine, I eat, the sun is shining, the sea sucks etc..: Mom is still Mom. Finally, the division and now the screams of my wife feel very far away, but do not despair.
After the bridge of the first Logonovo individual tracks: two cans of beef expired in 1939. I'm on the right track. At ice cream making Italy one of the roses that I held tight in his mouth, and a hundred meters after stumbling into a bandoneon. Then I see a CD of Astor Piazzola. And a piece of asado a bombilla for mate and a premolar (hey, the kidnapped ... you are defending). We are heading to Porto Garibaldi. Encouraged
, after having a look inside the library The Oaks and the window of Alice Sport, the division of a large career to boarding the ferry on portocanale.
The screams of my wife are getting closer, and I see a cloud of dust down the avenue.
finally reaches them boarding the ferry. They are in front of me, but between we are three people in line. My wife, gagged with a bandana and tied to bellemeglio with a lasso, I launched one peremptory look, as if to say: "What are you waiting, come here, quickly." He spread his arms as if to say that I have in front of people, not I jump on him, a little 'patience and education, by golly!
Meanwhile watch the two South Americans, agitated, rising on the ferry with their backpack on his shoulder screaming, shouting to the driver to set sail: two forms of blood, skinned cats as road, bruised, swollen, stunned by the cries, one without a mustache and one balding, with tufts of dyed hair strewn everywhere. Two scrap, but apparently still determined.
When it's my turn, I get on the ferry, I approach the ticket and realized with dismay that I have no money. Twenty cents separate me from my beloved wife, but unfortunately I have to get off. She strikes me with a look and see uscirle a wisp of smoke from the ears while I understand the gestures that mica can not pay the ferry ticket, be patient and find a solution.
And while I'm there that I evaluate whether it is better to go home, recover and return to this twenty cents or ferry to go to Porto Garibaldi making the rounds on the deck of Romea (go to swim is not talked about, if I want to drink some hydrocarbons, I rather quaff a can kerosene), one of the two desperados leans over the edge of the boat, and after swirl over the heads of bolas, lashes out at me.
I can barely dodge the first two balls, but the third strikes me in the left eye.
I fall with a crash on the platform in a pool of blood.
When I recover, it's too late, and sadly I'm going back home, thinking about my loved one who finds himself lost in a vast and hostile land, perhaps in a hacienda in the middle of the pampas .
But do not despair, it can not end like this. As soon as I finish le ferie e mi sarò ripreso, mi organizzo per bene, magari telefono a Genova per sapere quando salpa il primo piroscafo per Buenos Aires e setaccerò l’Argentina da cima a fondo, finché non l’avrò ritrovata.
Anche se, secondo me, me la rimanderanno indietro prima .
...
Due cose.
La prima è che confido nel sense of humor degli amici argentini: capiranno che scherzo, e sapranno perdonarmi.
La seconda è che oggi compie gli anni l'amministratore delegato del Team , nonchè mio storico socio di beach tennis. Auguri da parte mia and - I feel I can say - all friends of the Bath Plug and bathrooms nearby. It also quietly
turn the candles on the cake: the firefighters I have already early warning me.
