domenica, dicembre 12, 2010

MARITA. PLEASE. FIND. ME. TELEGRAMS. JUST. WON'T. DO.


MARITA, IT IS ALMOST NEW YEAR, AND MY EYES ITCH.  MARITA, I WAS TOLD THE LIQUIDS WOULD WORK, BUT THERE'S BEEN NO PROGRESS WHATSOEVER; THE KIDS STILL DON'T GET ALONG, AND WE LIVE SOME SORT OF DOMESTIC APARTHEID.  LIFE'S NOT BAD, MARITA, I GIVE YOU THAT, BUT THERE'S ROOM  FOR IMPROVEMENT - AND THERE WILL ALWAYS BE.  EVEN IF IT IS OUTRAGEOUSLY GORGEOUS FOR A SUNNY SUNDAY, AND IF ALCOHOL HAS STOPPED DOING IT FOR ME. IF I FEEL LIKE HAVING BEAUTIFUL CONVERSATIONS WITH STRANGERS, WITH AN EMPTY GLASS AHEAD OF US.  AN EMPTY, CLEAN GLASS.  STILL, MARITA, I GET THE CHANCE TO MEET OLD FRIENDS, AND THE SUBJECT JUST GETS BETTER AND DEEPER.  MARITA, WHERE'S YOUR CONDITION, THEN?  BECAUSE I FULLY SATISFY IT, AND IT SEEMS TO ME YOU ARE RUNNING OUT OF ARGUMENTS - FOR IT IS LAUNDRY WEEK, AND THE PLACE NEEDS AN EXORCISM.  

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CI SIAMO QUATTRO. E LEGGIAMO ASSOLUTAMENTE TUTTO. DOPO TRE O QUATTRO MESI. E CINQUE O SEI BICCHIERI. DI VELENO.