I wanted to do good in my city. I've always said, but Palermo is ungrateful and now here I am tied up like a salami, with these people who cry out against me. DEATH! But why? A light pole sticking out of high pile of garbage bags. A noose hanging next to the open space left tied to the lamp. DEATH! The people screaming. I am the premier. Not the Premier, what is written with a capital letter, may God protect and preserve it. I am James Scafidi, Prime Minister of Palermo. They came to pick me up in San Martino, right into my study, those bastards. There was a clash in the garden, which lasted several hours, were taken to blows, but eventually they made it. Aldo gave me a gun, just as the rebels entered the house and went to the blue room. I'll take burnout. I told him I wanted to be cremated, not to let anyone in my mortal remains. Meanwhile, the approaching footsteps. They had to get past the purple room, the green, orange and white. Aldo also had a gun. His eyes looked at me like ice blacks full of pride. The rebels were in the room when purple my right arm and a personal adviser Gaetano Aldo Bellia blew his brains out. But I did not do. GIACOMO Scafidi, surrender! Said one boy. It was not long and after a quick trip in a jeep here I am. I should point out that had it not been for the support of the neo fascist Franz Scalia, perhaps I should have saved. They were to coordinate their action, strong of meetings took place in my house. But I do not want to think anymore. The crowd around me, for the last time and there is an unbearable stench, the smell of garbage, the smell of the city of Palermo, my hometown.
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