E drops heavy rumbling like boulders falling from the overpass on the plastic shed tears hole ( the name of the former roommate), curious and useless corner of the loft room in vico Melofioccolo. The rain washes away the new wave of trash that is poured into the alleys of the old town less conspicuous, going to end up somewhere, tired of a day trying to learn some basic notion of economics, the study in the library and a mille caffè, e persino ad una partita con gli amici di Giusso a nomi, cose, città, e cose (indicibili). Un finesettimana dedicato a rimettere in sesto la testa, dopo l’ennesimo sconvolgimento, con dubbi risultati. No . L’ormai famigerata ridefinizione identitaria prende passi troppo incerti e il lavoro del cervello porta solo all’esasperazione. Al Musafir cerca il pulsante di spegnimento del vortice delle proprie elucubrazioni inconcludenti. Arranca, barcolla nell’incapacità di ascoltare, anzi no, capire se stesso, e le sue troppo momentanee sensazioni. Cerca risposte che non può avere. E come potrebbe, se per così many years has almost never been able to listen to himself? Groundhog me. And then the solution is just that. That they continue to repeat all the people around you: give yourself time , stop thinking and listen to your feelings, from the most simple . And then we'll see. This represents a remarkable step forward that all these issues are taken into account. The samskeyti not invented. It is to accept anything will come of it. Stop . Forget. (cited)
