I am one that my uncle is called Pino. For
lesattezza, Uncle called PinoTeresa, son of Teresa, lan named in order to distinguish collaltro Uncle Pino, PinoRosina, son of Rosina. But he is not here I want to tell Uncle Pino, so questincipit has to be redone.
So, be patient, Rifo.
Sunday 24 in the afternoon, light-hearted, I went to the cemetery. Son lìmpalato below the grave of my dear father and my grandmother did not know and look around.
sudden macchiappa a slight disorientation. Queer is not right? I asked the voice in the cucurbit ill. What I sense is dextran? insists the voice in the cucurbit ill.
I look around, it seems tuttaposto. Tuttaposto. Tuttaposto uncazzo! An
cut Pino!
The Pine! lan sawn!
The Pine! respect for the dead that he too was almost dead for years dry dark looming hill senzalinfa long fingers on the monument number one hundred thirty-nine Pino! skeleton of an unexpected switch to a better fireplace.
Tiè! spit happy allassente tan finally truncated Afar away chips sawdust pellet ah! enjoy! yes I enjoy! I enjoy all right, Pino! my ass! Tiè!
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