In queste maledette giornate piove come se dovessi subire una qualche punizione degli dèi per peccati commessi stupidamente; non riesci a fare niente, non esci, aspetti semplicemente che passi, che si stanchino di perseguitarti e passino alla prossima vittima. Non posso uscire a correre e quella maledetta influenza mi ha gia’ dato un colpo alle spalle. Vigliacca. Eppure questa tormenta ha un non so che di affascinante, qualcosa che ti ipnotizza e ti costringe a stare li’, ad ascoltare il vento che urla e ti sbatte la pioggia sui vetri come stracci sporchi di fango. Mi verso un altro bicchierino di te’, ormai non li conto piu’. E resto a fissare la pioggia che sferza i pini. E’ cosi’ bella.
–
These damn days it rains as if I had to suffer some sort of punishment for stupidly committed sins; you can’t do anything, you don’t go out, you just wait for them to get tired of persecuting you, passing over to the next victim. I can’t go out and run and that fucking flu already backstabbed me. Coward. Yet this storm has something fascinating, something which hypnotizes and forces you to stay, listening to the howling wind which knocks the rain against the windows like mud-dirty rags. I pour another tipple of tea, I stopped counting them. And I watch on the rain whipping the pine trees. It’s so beautiful.
–
These damn days it rains as if I had to suffer some sort of punishment for stupidly committed sins; you can’t do anything, you don’t go out, you just wait for them to get tired of persecuting you, passing over to the next victim. I can’t go out and run and that fucking flu already backstabbed me. Coward. Yet this storm has something fascinating, something which hypnotizes and forces you to stay, listening to the howling wind which knocks the rain against the windows like mud-dirty rags. I pour another tipple of tea, I stopped counting them. And I watch on the rain whipping the pine trees. It’s so beautiful.