One of the neighborhoods of Palermo, which has always fascinated me, Bonagia. The wide roads, green bins, the campaign that you do not want to give fenced, children gray as asphalt, threatening and squalid buildings, the shacks - but a few are now - with two floors, which form the corner, the mountains behind , near the ring. Bonagia is a paradise so improved. I'm sorry to leave those places, those streets, those memories, but after Lucio enlisted there was a real man, at home, and my sister and grandmother were afraid of looters. They decided, after Aunt Clara said recapitatagli to our letter from a particularly hairy trucker, to dismantle everything and move to the country, at least until the situation calms down a bit '. Now I'm the man of the house, even if I only have 11 years. But I feel the heavy load of responsibility on him. Help to load the new 500 and give a last look, the car in the highway away, the neighborhood Bonagia, with its spire, the rose windows, the arches and capitals, with embrasures and galleries, many generations ago, we put a cd fake Venditti. The day is fresh. Keep your windows closed. Someone dropped a stink. I swear that's not me! My grandmother and my sister do not believe it, try convincing a way to exonerate themselves, just a moment before we stop at the roadblock. Very few, actually. And one is even in a wheelchair. GIVE U.S. THE MEANS. We intimate the guy with the necklace shaped like a swastika. My mother pressed the accelerator pad and races through that group of sfasciallitti. The guy in the wheelchair loses grip and falls to the ground. We laugh, but the smell of the fart is still with us.
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