On Monday I'm tired, I dress with the wrong clothes and I feel out of place all day, raining and people had hits with umbrellas, sheets of newspaper soaked in water lining the steps of the subway. The station is as rushed as ever, full of a collective desire to depart or arrive as quickly as possible.
On Tuesday it is still raining, I have billions of copies to make, I try to hide behind the pashmina indigo and not think about anything, not to miss the train beat the Olympic record for Bolt, I get on the regional need of an oxygen mask, in is so hot that some passengers had fainted and lay clearly pour on the chairs.
On Wednesday I wake up without knowing it, are not aware of anything that happens before eight and a half when I find myself in a noisy class to suggest to people how to spell or Poitiers Orleans and not feel absolutely proud of what is happening around me. I eat the salad of farro in the shop where all are named with the diminutive and I do not know anybody, I eat standing up because two tizie blonde shades do not move their huge bags signed by the table even when I beg with his eyes. I curse my education, more and more.
Thursday is back so soon that the world is, or rather there is only rain, the only noise heard throughout the city, a pouring monsoon rain reassuring that rocks me while I sleep on the train listening to the latest playlist of sociology with the book on his lap.
Through the usual swarm of electronic toy airplane and I cabinet in ten cubic centimeters in meters, but as the world goes to Cadorna as usual and just one stop to raise the inflation of the umbrella from € 3 to 5.
On Friday I should be studying and instead spend most of the day pretending to regain your strength. I try to defibrillate with a cold shower, I lie on the sofa, promising myself that I'll be there only five minutes and instead I wake up after a couple of hours. In the evening I go out and before ten and a half are a zombie devoid of any energy, I feel tares hung on the eyelids, I get the red capillaries as the willy coyote. On Saturday
study something, I go out with friends, I play a guitar without me, I drink the chocolate with the cream, taste the chianti, and I think this winter is too hot, I want the cold truth, the feeling of driving off the face in the coat collar against the wind, gloves, skin that stings.
Sunday then it is almost Monday.
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