Null Modem Cable Pinkie

Droppie (X parte)

The next day he put the computer under his arm and took the subway to go to the library to finish his thesis. He had written a Silvia or had more call after he returned to Milan. Was in no mood to talk to anyone. He was still upset and would not know what to say. And then the time was fixed on beauty. He waited for rain, and that the glass on the window sill is filled, as he told her. In the subway tunnel was already very hot at ten o'clock in the morning. It was chock full of people irritable and hot. The benches were all occupied. The boy leaned back against the curved wall of Cavour station and began to read the billboards advertising to pass the time.

"People Would read anything in the tube" was the headline of an English countryside that he had mentioned in his thesis as the best example of using the media. It was true. He looked at the board: six more minutes. The Rome metro laugh compared to that of Milan. Meanwhile, the train came rattling in the opposite direction and soon departed. Among the crowd of people seemed to recognize a waterproof cream that was strangely familiar. His heart began to beat wildly. The man with the briefcase and looked like the bald ... but no, he could be. Yet he looked like. Same waterproof cut with wide shoulder straps buttoned, very checkered lining of Barbour. And the hair worn short back and sides and the square in the middle? If it were not for the trendy eyeglass frames could have sworn that this was his father. But you can also change a frame, he thought. The man on the other side of the tracks while he went quietly to the exit. His train was coming but the boy was seized by an impulse. He began to run up the stairs like crazy, bumping against the stream of people coming down in the opposite direction. Nothing could stop him. Even the fat with the shopping bags and her son in her arms that nearly killed. Nor does the risk of breaking the computer and the impact of losing all the work done for the thesis. He climbed the steps of the marble stairs two at a time, climbed over the turnstiles and re-emerged in the sea of \u200b\u200btourists in Via dei Fori Imperiali. Man with even waterproof cream shadow. In front of him towered the imposing outline against the light and majesty of the Colosseum. It was not the first time that's happened to that feeling of disorientation. A full-blown panic attack. He had dreamed many times that his father was alive. He feared that he had faked his death to be able to marry, have children, rebuild their family. Changing our lives short. If he had not seen with his own eyes and touched with his hands on his father's lifeless body on the cold marble slab in the morgue had no doubts. He still needs so much? If the image abroad. He should change his name and occupation, but with his knowledge of English and French, his intelligence and his incredible ability to self Tullio going to make it anywhere. Once told him that as a young man to impress in a Danish fell in love, he taught himself the language and his promise that one day in that land far away you would have heard of him. And so it was. At 40 years and without political support or recommendation of any kind Tullio had become the youngest primary convention held in Italy and worldwide. Now that he thought his father had always preferred the countries of northern Europe. His life would have been different if his father was still there with him? Would help him with money, the university, illness and all the rest? And his mother would be like? That she was alive when her husband was always complaining that it was a bear and never wanted to go out and see people-he would be his books and his music-and that after his death had removed it all: fights, long faces, misunderstandings, to remember only what little good was left. It 's so that the brain works. Removes ugly and keep only those memories that make you feel good. Had they taught her father. He always said that the brain can not help but think, and who says he is not thinking of anything, mind shamelessly. Why is your use of the organ. And the only function of the brain is to think. Even once when his father was studying biology, said he continues to be brain activity several minutes after death. And he, what he was thinking at that moment? Perhaps his father would have liked to see him graduate? Shit, the view! The session was one degree less than a month and had yet to complete it and return it to the speaker.