There was no evening goes by without a sally, slower or faster, the tantra bar. I knew Digo, who sat sipping his drink at the bar with the air of someone who would sell a kidney for an hour of fun. It toyed Mary, next door, the hem of the skirt Mr. Smangle. They had caught some of the dissident fair average, lost in a sea of \u200b\u200bregret and wasted years in the wrong bed, cultured from the pain of yet another post-abortion dysmenorrhea. Meanwhile, the Skull wrinkled pages of an old book Irvine Welsh, his Bible, sitting idly in an anonymous table under the giant attacked Armstrong on trumpet and swollen like a bagpipe. And out came the noises of the boys on scooters loaded with the arrears charged makeup perched behind. The bartender served coffee to the lords of transition from the city. They come in designer clothes, in a hurry, almost did not want to defile of provincialism. One of the audience fell silent on all patrons of the country. He looked like a cross between Charles Bronson of the best times and Gianni Morandi. Smile of porcelain and polished as a rock, swallowing his cappuccino with hand Leste and took leave without saying goodbye. Every so often he would live Beppe, who advanced to the jukebox boots with pointed feet and put the same song, New Kid in Town Eagles. He drove a tow truck and was shuttled between the east and Milan. He was married to a Slavic name of Zdenka and had children without thinking that the brats do not feed automatically, not even a gallatura it had been in the house. Oswald pointed out that the best cowboy always low but the lamb was not an understatement was not interested in anyone. Nobody, after all, spinning Oswald, peeled and inept, how many gifts hair, the son of a sarchiapone size tank and a woman without ovaries molasses to remedy. Then there was Christian who impaled and always challenges involved in darts, did not speak much. Le sue parole erano i rintocchi sordi dei dardi che si conficcavano nel legno e che sancivano le sue vittorie. Non mancava, inoltre, la membranza di Riccardo, il pulcino calciatore, cresciuto e trasferitosi a Bologna con una schiera di cuori infranti alle spalle. Non era raro che Alcide lo ricordasse con astio, grattando lo sporco da officina che gli anneriva quotidianamente le mani. E non sorprendeva che al Tantra bar vi fosse stata anche una rissa che aveva coinvolto più villici presi a preliare come gladiatori in corsa per la vita. Il flipper aveva strillato il suo ultimo tilt quando Antonio aveva impattato la sua tutt’altro che modesta mole sulla faccia di Axl Roses e compagni. Orazio, il fabbro di corte, ne aveva sancito la morte tra i sospiri dei bambini e Santu particularly the sardonic, that fuckin 'who did not exceed one hundred thousand, a top-thirty, ten years of dodgeball championships and never lost a game. Every Friday night there were some females in tight clothes Partially Bonded, cigarette in hand and fresh fresh license in his wallet. The staked Deborah, said the troione, but that did not gave her pussy to anyone. The fishing takes place, rather, to fuck the cheese fries and the Big Bubble about stretching her long purple fingernails and obscene. Her maid of honor, the Berta scarniccia, made eyes at Luke, a ram of guy, hairy, rough skin and character, still crouched on the phantom airbrushed by way 'of American sports car. Then there was still chi portava a galla, nei propri discorsi, la nefasta ricorrenza della sera del trentun agosto in cui un certo Ugo si era sparato nel capannone dietro casa. La sua ditta di pezzi di ricambio per auto era fallita mesi addietro e da allora non un soldo era più entrato nelle tasche del poveretto. La moglie Marina si era infilata un vestito nero ed era andata al Tantra per chiedere a Fausto, suo prozio e unico parente rimastole vicino dopo un matrimonio avversato da tutti gli altri, un prestito per allestire un degno funerale al marito. In quell’occasione il bar si era riempito di sentimento e il paese tutto si era stretto attorno al dolore della donna, compreso Landi il furfante, uomo dissoluto e dedito al furto nelle ville in collina, una greppia per bocca e un trogolo Nose, who spends himself in a newsboy crying from admirable. His wingman Francis had comforted them in your pocket as soon as the stolen goods taken from the widow Nardini, seized by uncontrollable tremors of pain empathy. After all, the priest did not ever see at the bar, like a big toe and gout had seized and prevented falangette to walk more than ten meters from the church. The elite of the country was then far from entering into the merits of the activities of the local socket to parade in full regalia with shiny cars ejaculate from the magnificent gates of the palaces outside the country. The only environment that worth the Tantra of his presence was Robby the idiot son of notaries of great fame and expressive as a stalactite. Parade of shoes Gucci Brook Brothers and complete, but no one is wise, since at the Tantra fashion it was not known. Gianfranco laughed like crazy when Robby looked out the entry with his snout amorphous and was forced to run the processes to rinse his face flushed. Was not a man to use delicacies, but he loved his daughter more than Gladis from street vendor cart that was dragging behind him like a coffin centenary. Gladis was un'infingarda attorney, court of a mouse wearing glasses that made dating even more grim on his face sharp. But the arch-fiend of the country was wiry Pino, an evil ferret crawling in the shadows, from house to house, and sneak into the bar like a slut of Tantra sewer in the most renowned restaurants. It appropinquava the counter and asked for a package of national and Montenegro. His diet was lethal and that he gave un'alitosi chronic discomfort over the slut cock near the hull of the Autogrill. When a stranger entered the Tantra, he approached the slimy and malevolent, filling it with praise and various jokes behind. People laughed a lot Pino, but never with Pino. Philip took him a kick in the porch in front of the room and told him that his mother was a silo of manure. He was a lover with young maidens, but then he covered his receding hairline with hair and greasy black hair that looked good from the wash to keep it firmly on the cranio.
Poi, beh, c’ero io. Un mangia banane a tradimento che un giorno affogò in un bicchiere di Martini di troppo e che fu ritrovato nel fosso davanti alla casa di Mino il macellaio. Qualcuno si era preso la briga di legarmi al sedile del guidatore e di piazzare un mattone sull’acceleratore e quel qualcuno era mia suocera, una cagna procellosa con uno spiccato amore per l’azione. Al Tantra Bar fu accolta da vestali festanti e tutti gli animi infetti di quel tugurio pestilenziale levarono i calici per un ennesimo brindisi, portando le voci gracchianti delle zingare indovine fino alle stelle, i pianti dei bambini cenciosi fino alla Via Lattea e gli squassanti peti dei braccianti oltre i confini dell’universo.
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