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POOL Arenile

Napoli, Italy 29.07.2010

Mime And Dance Uniforms

Preston And Steve Man Having Orgasm

Entropy

I put the song and I'm staring at the cassette. Begin the early stages and looking you please be patient.

just the chorus and in that moment, you feel compelled to say something, no matter what very well, and it does it will be something trivial and I feel misunderstood.

incapable of understanding that I will be for you only two minutes of an unknown song and a song can not get into your heart and pull the spring awakened a childhood memory, an experience and yellowing of the time, a sense of perfect summer afternoon, possibly never existed such and as I am recalling, because each invocation is being rewritten, rounding, polishing.

That wonderful feeling you'll be locked inside me and I wring the need to share with you, fall to pieces, spit photos or a film at the navel.

Later I resign and accept the reality, and cause a hole in my attic for a box full of snakes, which will be reserved for me.

cleared it

Thus the space for common memories, those that are stored in duplicate, awaiting the time needed to hatch within us so that, when least expected, a stupid song makes them into resonance.

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The moment of truth

nearly four years ago I wrote this entry: of like being on the verge of running out s vehicle, and she recounted the events of the night of September 4, 2006 in the garage where had rented a place.

I think enough time has passed to tell the truth about this event and no one stops to collect the insurance. In case I will clarify: everything posted in this blog should be considered fiction.

***

That morning, like all others, I went out toward the garage to pick up the bike and go to work. It was not till well near the entrance when I noticed the small crowd that gathered there, and almost down the ramp, I smelled burning plastic and saw the soot was everywhere. I'm not very good reflexes in the morning.

The man with the bike CSR -used to match and talk about bikes, I stopped and I was waking up as she told me that the garage was on fire that night and that his motorcycle was burnt. That was finally the blow that made me react and run down the ramp to find my precious little fleet.

smoke had dissipated almost completely but there was a strong smell of burning plastic and other equally toxic substances. I covered my nose with the neck of the shirt as he went down in complete darkness, since neither the lights worked and the blackened walls were able to reflect light from outside.

As my eyes grew accustomed, I saw the plastic that covered one of the neon ceiling had melted, forming a huge rope that almost reached the ground. The cars near the entrance were filled with white powder (fire extinguishers or whatever so that firefighters had off the fire) and soot, but unharmed.

Almost abruptly

I found my bike, as it was displaced from my garage and took up almost half passing vehicles. Was black, sooty, but unharmed. At that moment, do not really know why, I assumed they were firefighters who had moved.

The first impression I got my car was quite alarming. On the hood had fallen several pieces of plaster from the ceiling, and a sticky black coating completely covered the glass and metal.

windshield cleaned the soot by hand and inspected the interior: everything was seemingly fine. I looked left and saw the blue Atos adjacent parking, the fire had entered the left side but had not come to break the glass on the other side. Thanks to that my car had been saved.

The CSR my friend had burned the whole front. There was the tire without rubber reflector headlamp with cable remains the handle melted and become a piece of iron. Middle deposit had been stripped of black paint.

behind him was the skeleton of what looked like a scooter fully unrecognizable. And beside him, two cars burnt.

finally I left the street to clean air. I stumbled up the incline with a square plate. Once outside I learned from the story of a man with paint-filled blue pants, that firefighters had rescued the plaque to identify your bike. He was the owner of the mass of iron that last night was a Yamaha Cygnus 125 and despair, we asked who was going to pay now their only means of transport. The rest of the neighbors talked about the safe and told me not to touch anything because the Judicial Police was coming.

***

JUDICIAL POLICE took his good time to appear, in an austere and dilapidated Fiat Punto white. He got the driver with a huge lantern in hand. Had the characteristic appearance of veteran agent, unmistakable even wearing civilian clothes, which is approximately fifty-five, with white hair and a great sufficiency.

In the passenger seat was a young agent, in contrast to the experienced hound him, was the spitting image of inexperience.

carried a clipboard in hand and began to take note of the data already collected by the other agent, the expert.

Allí se encontraba el vecino de arriba que, alertado por el humo, había llamado a los bomberos a las cuatro de la mañana. Se daba la incómoda circunstancia de que había sido yo el último en pasar por allí, a las dos de la mañana. Me estrujé una y mil veces los sesos recordando uno por uno mis gestos y no tenía duda alguna de haber cerrado bien la puerta al salir. Así se lo aseguré a los agentes.

Había llegado el momento de bajar a inspeccionar el escenario de los hechos. Advertido por los vecinos de la ausencia de luz, el veterano agente le pidió a su compañero que bajara el Fiat con las luces encendidas.

neighbors asking if we looked at was allowed down to the agents, which "was obvious," we were all wanting.

The Fiat Punto down the ramp slowly. The headlights went sketching in the air, filtered by the haze of dust and smoke.

Escorting the car, the veteran agent brandishing the torch by creating a third halo of light moving on the air, and behind, we were the entourage of neighbors and onlookers. The scene was priceless.

Finally the car stopped next to me Clio, pointing to the lights Bikes and cars victims of the tragedy. He got the young actor to join his teammate on the remains of the scooter.

- See? "Said the veteran pointing his flashlight at a large chipped ceiling" This is where the fire has been active longer. The heat has had time to burn the plaster ceiling.

All nodded satisfied with the logic of this explanation, as curious tourists who come stealthily to hear the tour guide from another group.

"The fire then started on this bike, and was spreading to nearby vehicles.

The scooter owner , feeling alluded to, took a step forward. The officer asked him some questions. Ruled out any negligence of the owner liable, as the bike left running, lights on, and other equally unlikely theories, the hypothesis about the start of the fire was in the air.

A new information came to light, the hand of the neighbor who alerted the fire: the door was locked when they arrived, so either the bike or burned only it was that caused the fire had keys to enter, and closed the door before fleeing.

The owner of the CSR ever had told me that he noticed that gasoline stolen at night, and sure they were the kids who mopeds parked at the end of the ramp, in premises are separate before the automatic door giving access to garage .

But neither he wanted to dwell at length on this theory, nor would the players get into more speculation, and after some photos, the judicial police found he had enough to produce its report. At the end of the day, as I guessed then that inspection should be a formality for all the insurance paperwork.

agents disappeared and appeared garage owner to calm everyone, ensuring that the insurance would take care of the garage without doubt all damages.

We told the owners of vehicles affected than we could take the cars to wash, that insurance would pay the cost.

***

ENDED THE CIRCUS, I got ready to take the bike to give it a good scrubbing. I gave him a rag to the saddle and I got to boot. I made several attempts but the starter motor spinning but the explosions began. I reached for the faucet and saw carburetor was set in position "off." By the same logic absurd before, I thought it had been firefighters.

I turned the knob and pulled. I took the bike jerking and the few streets again to stop. I shook a bit the bike: the tank was almost empty.

I had stolen the gas!

why my bike was displaced, as attached to the front left parked car, the thief (or thieves) had to move to gain access to the tube by lowering the gas into the carburetor. Once removed the tube, only had to put a container underneath and let fall the fuel. Detail had close the valve of the carburetor at the end.

probably repeated the same with the CSR and to try the scooter did not have it so easy. I imagine that due to nervousness, or made the mistake of light with a lighter, or someone lit a cigarette, ignoring the vapors coming out of the bottle.

I realized that when my bike was the only one not burned, I was the only one with a proof of the theft of gasoline, or whatever it is, the only one who knew the truth about the fire.

very nervous and not knowing what to do, it occurred to me call the owner of the garage for him of my findings. Very excited, I related all the details, and let me finish the story without apparent signs of enthusiasm. Instead I could feel some pouting (entry) of concern. He stammered a bit, not knowing how to start their reply.

- Actually ... well ... would be useful ... would not be good ... the police knew ... insurance has already said it will pay you know ... does not need to ...

remembered the man with the paint-stained blue jeans, a neighbor of CSR and the other owners. Neither they nor the owner, or the judicial police, were the least interested in knowing the truth. Those affected would have their pay, he could paint and fix the damage, and the agents had their report.

I decided to keep the truth for me and not hinder the progress of a bureaucratic machine that only knows how to walk in a straight line.

Maybe in four years, I thought, could tell the story.