E 'one in the morning, I finished watching a pointless show, I sent the final messages to your friends and get ready to go to sleep. The bed is nicely warmed by the blanket, I gave the last meal of the day to my Kika now usually sleeps on the pillow. Teresa already sleeping in her bed for hours, control the key gas, and I shove under the rug. I read a few pages of this book that makes me boring by sleeping pills. I put down the book, turn off the light and disappears under the soft blanket and duvet. It 's my magic moment. Run the last thoughts of the day, the driver who swerved suddenly and I almost dropped, that one that made me go on the pedestrian crossing, but the latest thoughts go to those, and there are many who do not have a house, do not have a bed and sleep on the sidewalks in the boxes or under bridges. And 'it possible that a rich country like Italy that always cries poverty but has the highest number of cars per capita, you can not find a way to fix these poor people in the dorms, it would take time to give them an accommodation? The rich man wipes his conscience by saying that they are the ones who chose the road, the politician ignores the problem, the priest has already given them a bowl of soup.
Why do I feel guilty under my duvet? I too have not done much, I filled in the appropriate containers of old blankets and sweaters but I sure do not end up in Prato to be reclaimed and turned into leaders of "pure wool". Another thought is to young people who walk the streets half naked freezing in the suburbs in search of customers, while young people full of coca soon come out of nightclubs for artifact to kill against the light poles, to bakers who soon will resume his usual work at night, but at least they are warm.
Another thought is ....
EM
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