Indy Trail Rear Suspension Frozen

Droppie (II parte)

dropped. He clung to that word as a veteran of the war the only good memories. Over time that word was like empty, had lost all ties to her meaning, transforming into pure sound. The sound of a raindrop falling into a mountain lake and blends with its deep and calm waters.

dropped. The boy's slender fingers typing on the keyboard the seven letters of your password and the computer starts with the familiar sound of the i-mac. It was recorded in Communication Sciences, address business communication. He was preparing the thesis on children and advertising. He had gone to the library to complete a very boring thesis that included the code of advertising self-regulation, legislation for children and all judgments made in the regulation of direct communication with minors after he was introduced to the grand jury. Was smarter to take notes directly on the handset. At the sound the computer was turned on the other side of the library, a student raised his head from the book. But just look crossed the boy's expression of reproach on his face turned into a half smile.

The two met again by chance there again in a week, but the third time that both seemed to find there was not a case at the same time, again on Tuesday morning. It was a beautiful sunny day. When the boy left the library with his laptop under his arm, the other was waiting for him sitting on the front steps with a pair of Rayban Aviator and his shirt half unbuttoned the pretext of a tan.

"Pleasure, Peter."

"Nice, Andrea," said the boy, clutching the big hand of Peter. Andrea was the name he always used his first meeting with a stranger, but this time it a little ashamed. To not let it show to its close imprinted an unusual force, very manly.

"What Faculty are you? "

" Communication Sciences. I am preparing a thesis. And you? "

" Architecture. Two years out of course ... "

Peter was a nice guy. Clean face emphasis in the south, straight hair, perfect teeth and a nice pair of suede Hogan light on his feet. 44-45 mentally measured the boy and after a quick look at the nose was deduced that important to be well made.

Something in his gestures, nell'andatura lanky and slow and relaxed, especially in the cadence with which he spoke gave Peter something very noble, if not snobbish. The chevalier gold pinky confirmed his suspicions.

"Would you like a granita," asked Peter.

a granita? It had to be Neapolitan or Sicilian, he thought.

a "scratchy" he said challenging the boy, treading a bit 'on the accent and Roman accompanying the sentence with one of his best smiles marauders.

"In Rome it is said Scratchy, who do not know?" He continued. Peter smiled back, sardonically. They had understood. After Great Peter offered to drive him home. The boy immediately accepted and was pleasantly surprised to find a good setter sitting waiting for the back seat of his dusty station wagon Opel. Her name was Eve. It was a black and white setter of five or six years, also complete with a pedigree like the master. No not that bothered him the smell in the car: he loved the dogs, "said he quickly made friends with Eva and offering a hand to lick.