A Winter Odd Franco Foschi and Guido Leotta I wanted to walk tonight. When I'm thinking too much so I try to get tired, and then they happen to cross the city without even noticing it taking advantage of a spring afternoon ended in a bunch of winter. Odd.
Before reaching home, the window of a bar I see Lorenzo and Luisa. He is relaxed, she is discovering the murderess. It is there in fact to read the last pages of the book, caught on committing a crime. We smile, drink something and reach out to others, Albert, Mary, Mirca Clare and Katie. We have just started and Letizia also arise when Rosanna.
begin with the weaknesses, according to Lorenzo, our Commissioner and why the authors could not have had to describe it, diminishing it. We women, if there is a man we like, just what is 'weak', alas, so in unison with the voice of Mary but nearly mauled him, Lorenzo, to counter, instead of the Commission is troubled tenderness, but tenacious and without compromise, where the disturbance can only enrich the character and entertain the reader. Besides, Lorenzo, on come on, can not strike the morality of these days! No nod to political matters, as she thought for a split second. No. These days, only the honesty that we arrived. Yeah. Instead, if there is one thing of which Mary would have done without the character are the Latin phrases and the cursive. It was sufficient for him to say, and only once, too, that Colajacono was a humanist, without this necessary redundancy and epode Horatian odes. Please, no. Horace let me, I liked it. And here, concedetecelo, we are the third round!, Let's Smargiassi to determine who wrote what, and we almost all agree in finding foschiani the direct speech, said or thought, leottini dissertations on the province and that thing on page one hundred and sixteen. The one thing that law Rosanna. Before that we had read almost all convinced that the reasoning of the three deaths could be really no reasons. Letizia For example, only a madness to kill two people in a precise manner and in a third case, although the reasoning contained in its very name, nomen omen. For Mirca motivation could simply be the banality of evil, the seed of loneliness, even the closure of a geographical place and not just mental. Lorenzo the victims were not together and, except the first, also seem not to deserve death. Perhaps the authors want to leave us with the suspicion that other people are involved, "says Luisa, and throw simplistically about loneliness. Maybe just have left holes, adds Mary. Perhaps there are Lagodiavolo baths, Chiara blossoms, crackpot Itinerant as she is called. Maybe ... (unlike Albert, I am not fond of the ellipsis but here because I need the explanation that we are about to receive left us hanging, in fact, waiting for the Guido and Franco confirm or refute) . Wait there Rosanna explains now that he has re-read, again, one hundred and sixteen page. The mystery is revealed here. Lagodiavolo to learn that the barbarians who have fallen, contrary to what one might think, a lot of thought with a more advanced concept of happy elsewhere and timeless. Life and death are spoken through music. And also the strength that God more good if he gets angry is kidnapped favorite harpist! If there is one thing that always struck me is the vengeance of the gods. Do not give a passing one. Penalty, then the loss of a harpist, three arias. Lament, crying, sleep. There. Our three victims must logon to the re-enactment of myth and ritual. It happens in fact that some re-enactments of participation soak bystanders, then it happens that the participation should be shared so that we escape the dead or that the tarantula will really sting. It happened in rituals or to Our Lady of Sorrows in Taranto and the Salento if one hardly explains it. We, first of Rosanna, it is explained. So Matthew, who would say one of the crackpot murderess Lagodiavolo, is the supreme justice. He has waited a whole year to play his music and communicate with the where or the petty jealousies and elsewhere but have policies that comes in to hamper the communication. Soon comes the revenge. Damn! Maria, however, there is despite the Rosanna has explained very well. There is, he wanted a writer, two to be precise, more humble, that would create the character without letting it become a murderess, the show bothers him so much of a myth in a small country of little culture. I do not understand why. And I say that maybe does not understand why it is not a potential killer (because some things only those who can understand them) then replied that I am. Ossignore! Is' to see that in an odd winter, duemilaunidici of this, I discovered that I could kill! And I thought to resemble Colajacono because of the desire etymologically sidereal; by a community of country that I created it and goes to Mass at least on feast days, because of Horace and the fireplace and by Joan patience, because of that beautiful thing that put two sentences together without invasion, because of the contempt of a house without even a rich book, because of the choice of odd numbers, because a thousand thoughts idealists. I discover to have the illusion of purity. And with this illusion commit murder without even the dead. Luckily I called life.
That's it, reads the inscription on my copy. But that's not all. Life is not a sentence incomplete. Even when we are in so many shadows in the shadows. When the word is fake because a translator crazy use of nouns than for a similar silence and someone else cheapens the sentiment that has only one zero at the bottom. When the godless persist in sin and helplessness of the father favor. Or when the work does not like and no one notices an absence. And even when shivering lighters rub for reasons of space and market share. Even when regret is never even touched something and a slice of watermelon just to quench the thirst of the heart. Life is not a sentence incomplete, no. Even if the cravat worn hanging at the main girder in the wrong direction. It is incomplete because we have taken alone but together with other normal names may be the soul. 
I have never used drugs or smoked a cigarette in my life just to try. On Sunday, however, thanks to the snow and a fortunate encounter that for once, together a tax notice crazy, makes you almost get a surprise package, and an accomplice is still a cozy fire, the hallucination came alone. Without drugs, smoke-free, which is better. The music of Ferruccio Faxtet Filipazzi tells me a story written by Giampiero Rigosi. Sometimes he spoke, Giampiero, for Ferruccio always wants to take a stand to tell, and yes it has a beautiful voice! Other times, Guido and his silence the one and the other with definite notes of melancholy rainbows. I did not know Chet Beker first hallucination. And to say that I like jazz, I listen, I followed Paolo Fresu in several concerts. It may be that it was really a hallucination, forgive me 'I'm Chet, or it may be that I, in the end, is only and still young enough to be ashamed of not having to meet him. It intrigued me the right. The old but very intrigued me, the alternative to Chet Beker be clear, what plays in his place one evening in Bologna soup of drugs and alcohol and who knows what else. Sounds and also takes his place, and I, at the end of the story, the rest with my mouth dried, burned with curiosity so much that I pour a glass of wine with these characters so as not to stop them but Alas, I insist in my teetotal. Ferruccio no longer speaks and Guido and his friends have already stopped playing. Still snowing outside. 
