She (Amanda) loved sports, he (Antonio) loved sitting down.
She ran and jogged in Villa Borghese, he hobbled and gasped to get bus 360.
She drank Gatorade and ate energy bars, he ate paninis and drank Coke.
(«Chiasmus!», cried the writer, interrupting his own story)
She was beautiful, but maybe she didn’t know, he never cared about his looks.
(«Enough antithesis for now», he said, interrupting the narration again)
(«No more interruptions, ohshit I did it again!»)
Anyway, you get it, they had nothing in common.
Good, let’s continue. More »

Jack Giraffe ties his tie and hat, the trench-coat on his left arm with the umbrella, the .38 calibre tea and the semi-automatic lime pistol in his holster.
As usual everything is in black and white, Jack smokes, the secretary smokes, the telephone smokes. More »

«It wasn’t such a hard day, was it?»
«Could have been worse. Yesterday I was exhausted»
«Yeah, yesterday.»
«Hope it gets here soon, I do.»
«What? The bus»
«Are we waiting? Does it stop here?» More »

The first time I saw him he was in Piazza di Spagna. He wore a hand-made tunic, old sheets held together by string.
«Repent daughters and sons, let ye not look for answers in the phone directory More »

A ray of light entered my life. Not a simple wave/particle/potato, something more. More »

Rome, March 1889.
I do remember her figure: an almost diaphanous complexion, blooming beauty in spite of her young age. But I remember especially her eyes, neither sapphires nor emeralds, perhaps aquamarines. More »

She was beautiful. Long legs, boobs I wished she’d breast-feed me.
But her eyes were the best thing. Neither blue nor green More »

She was beautiful. She was a living sun.
I had known her for a while, we had dated a little, we were a couple since yesterday. I had always loved her. More »