I saw him standing there in front of the "Circle".
I mistaken for an Albanian, a Romanian, an extra short.
bolso I saw a guy, his eyelids at half mast, with the right side of her hair still tousled, as if he had just got up from the sofa where he has been lying, idling for hours.
Dark circles marked, in both eyes swollen shut down, empty.
I looked.
He walked around with his hands behind his back, on the edge of our little group that was making noise outside the bar, talking about women, football and other amenities of daily life.
He walked around with his hands behind his back, a little 'hunchback bowed. Without speaking. He did not say anything. Just watched.
In the gaze of one who had resigned.
The half-open mouth like a madman.
watched and did not understand. I was chatting with
Stefanello Chip and who knows what to do now Eto 'in some kind of game, but every now and then threw a casual eye on the fellow who wandered tired at the margins, but said nothing.
The "Circle" is indeed full of strange humanity, often hurt, sometimes defeat.
Life is a strange beast. It can be beautiful, charming but sometimes melancholy and miserable.
wore a leather jacket, despite the exceptionally hot April for that after all had been mild up to that point. A taste of summer.
sun was beautiful, bright and humid air seemed to bring the smell of the sea just before the sun goes down.
of a sudden I decide to Chip and whisper, "But the one behind you, who?"
"Bergiggia" - he tells me.
Gianfelice Bergiggia. A strong guy, blond with blue eyes. A nice guy then, that ten years ago, scoured the streets of the country with his bike. A little 'rebellious, a little' jerk. Lively as all braggarts. 'Bausch ' for the Milanese, the few remaining.
Gianfelice Bergiggia. I'd never have recognized under 10 or maybe 20 pounds heavier, under the layer of fat that covered his face as if it were foam. Under the veil of weariness and sadness that I could touch like tissue paper. Under his blank stare, full of nothing, opaque.
With that hair matted to one side only, as if he had just got up from the couch on which surely will have been lying, idling for hours.
With that jacket and the heat. The half-open mouth like a madman.
I look good, I drive. Try to remember what it was just 10 years ago. 10 years! They are not so long a period.
no longer recognizes him enough to exchange it for a misfit, a poor unlucky extra.
Gianfelice Bergiggia. Defeated, sad, sad.
Life is a strange beast. It can be beautiful, fascinating. With Bergiggia was fierce!
