Son of the moon 
Venivo da Milano, Aveva più little twenty years and did the actress. Forced to sit for long periods in the capital, because of the evidence, decided to move permanently. Looking for a house was not easy, rents were not within my reach, so prevaricated advantage of friendships, turning around all the districts of Rome. That time I lived in the Snake Alley, the house was the friend of a friend of mine, practically a stranger, herself an actress, but much bigger than me. The night I arrived, about ten o'clock, I received a hurry, he showed me the bed and ran away, urlandomi that there was nothing to eat. He slammed the door. I threw the bag on the bed and began to accuse the fast. I went to open the fridge, only to curiosity, of course. Two hard-boiled eggs, a bowl of boiled potatoes, covered closely by the transparent film, a low-fat yogurt, a surplus of butter. Even if I could, I would not have made further depress. Andarmi decided to buy a pizza. In the alley I noticed a lot of dirt on the floor syringes, bottles and overflowing dumpster. The faces of strangers ruined by poverty or desperation, or both, were women, mostly prostitutes. I worried for my return home late at night after the show. I did make a round pizza in a pizzeria deserted, with damp walls and the air that smelled of rancid oil, but the pizza was nice. I made the beats a script on my accent and told me the usual relative moved to Milan to work. "How to work well there, but the city, the weather ...." Yes I know, I hate Milan, not only for this. Milan is just hate. I took the pizza and went to eat at home. It was dimly lit, two windows looked out on the street, while those in the kitchen, bedroom and bathroom, overlooking a small internal courtyard, where you could wash the dirty linen of the neighbors. It was the kitchen that witnessed the scene. They started yelling, insulting him heavily, she defended herself, weeping, he took a slap, and she spat in his face. "You're a bitch, this is not my son." She had a small child in her arms. "You're a pig, how do you think such a thing, disgusting!" He blinded by anger, continued to deny, to accuse her of treason, "He's blond, slut." She waved, heedless of the child, Stratton if he could he would have thrown out the window. He could not defend themselves. He took advantage, seized and sank the blade of a knife in his belly. I screamed, I dropped the pizza on the floor, I did not know what to do, other neighbors went to the house and began to scream too: "Call the police, an ambulance! Presto! "I had no idea what the number. Completely in the ball, unable, helpless, frustrated, angry, unable to help that baby. The night was sleepless, many people, police cars, ambulances, gossip, interviews. The next morning, I went to drink coffee, I was very tired, the road was quiet and I could not back out of my mind that scene. I looked at the box had been emptied, as the heart of that child.
Venivo da Milano, Aveva più little twenty years and did the actress. Forced to sit for long periods in the capital, because of the evidence, decided to move permanently. Looking for a house was not easy, rents were not within my reach, so prevaricated advantage of friendships, turning around all the districts of Rome. That time I lived in the Snake Alley, the house was the friend of a friend of mine, practically a stranger, herself an actress, but much bigger than me. The night I arrived, about ten o'clock, I received a hurry, he showed me the bed and ran away, urlandomi that there was nothing to eat. He slammed the door. I threw the bag on the bed and began to accuse the fast. I went to open the fridge, only to curiosity, of course. Two hard-boiled eggs, a bowl of boiled potatoes, covered closely by the transparent film, a low-fat yogurt, a surplus of butter. Even if I could, I would not have made further depress. Andarmi decided to buy a pizza. In the alley I noticed a lot of dirt on the floor syringes, bottles and overflowing dumpster. The faces of strangers ruined by poverty or desperation, or both, were women, mostly prostitutes. I worried for my return home late at night after the show. I did make a round pizza in a pizzeria deserted, with damp walls and the air that smelled of rancid oil, but the pizza was nice. I made the beats a script on my accent and told me the usual relative moved to Milan to work. "How to work well there, but the city, the weather ...." Yes I know, I hate Milan, not only for this. Milan is just hate. I took the pizza and went to eat at home. It was dimly lit, two windows looked out on the street, while those in the kitchen, bedroom and bathroom, overlooking a small internal courtyard, where you could wash the dirty linen of the neighbors. It was the kitchen that witnessed the scene. They started yelling, insulting him heavily, she defended herself, weeping, he took a slap, and she spat in his face. "You're a bitch, this is not my son." She had a small child in her arms. "You're a pig, how do you think such a thing, disgusting!" He blinded by anger, continued to deny, to accuse her of treason, "He's blond, slut." She waved, heedless of the child, Stratton if he could he would have thrown out the window. He could not defend themselves. He took advantage, seized and sank the blade of a knife in his belly. I screamed, I dropped the pizza on the floor, I did not know what to do, other neighbors went to the house and began to scream too: "Call the police, an ambulance! Presto! "I had no idea what the number. Completely in the ball, unable, helpless, frustrated, angry, unable to help that baby. The night was sleepless, many people, police cars, ambulances, gossip, interviews. The next morning, I went to drink coffee, I was very tired, the road was quiet and I could not back out of my mind that scene. I looked at the box had been emptied, as the heart of that child. 
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