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"Buon Natale, signore!"

Finally no rain. Gulls geometric drawing invisible paths and try to take what's left of the market square this morning.
My hair is long, and every morning in the mirror, I like myself more. I wear what I like: a sweatshirt, jeans, a pair of sneakers. Today I put a sweater when I was 20 years. It 's ridiculous, has a patchwork bear in the front but who cares. Breath of fresh air and watch the sky. I have to do some Christmas gift. My wife will be home for four, Luke, my little son who is at this time to the nest, Barbara, the great, who has already chosen his gift: a new Winx, the one with the purple dress.

The bartender greets me. Like me, I know. I take off my hat and pats her hair combed with the fingers. The beard adds a touch of peace to both the women wild. He asks me if I want coffee, as usual, or tea, or me and winks. Then I wonder why Haun those parts at that time. Changing topic, I congratulate the pearl necklace that sits softly on her breast and escape. I'm still a tasty morsel. I keep myself fit, I have a kind of home gym and nine in the evening no one can disturb me. They are there to lift weights and take a jog on the spot and at the end of half an hour of stretching. Hot shower, kiss the kids and in bed.

Within the toy store. 30 € for the Winx Barbara, 25 for a colorful train made in China for Luca. Nearby is a perfume. I know that my wife likes Chanel No.5: 90 € a bottle bigger. Like a crocodile belt in the window but I prefer to turn the corner. I get home. This morning is all for me. Put three cups on a coffee, not that of the bar was enough. I turn on the TV and I take this opportunity to learn some cooking recipe. Spaghetti with mullet and shrimp. They must be fantastic. The roe is good dear. That of Sardinia is wonderful. I remember. I did the military in Sassari and the rare occasions when we went to the restaurant's spaghetti with mullet I do them off anyone. What times! My wife was a little girl. It was the period of the first cell under the covers and I, after the sound of silence that echoed in the barracks, called her to ask her about her day, his mood, if you love me still, despite the distance.

in the wall of the corridor yesterday we hung pictures of us. Me, my wife, dei bimbi.

Ho un nodo in gola e mi fa male lo stomaco. Devo vendere la macchina e non so se ce la faremo quest’anno con questo cazzo di mutuo di trent’anni che ci prosciuga il sangue.

I bambini non hanno capito niente. Non percepiscono che da un mese non ho più un lavoro e che stare a casa e farmi la passeggiatina mattutina non è uno svago. Mia moglie mi incoraggia ma io non so cosa fare, non lo so. Non so cosa dare, non so come muovermi. So fare solo una cosa, la faccio da vent’anni e l’azienda ha chiuso. Moldavia o Romania le destinazioni possibili. Chi ci ama ci segua, hanno detto. Bastardi. Ma no, non sono bastardi. Hanno ragione. Lì s’accontentano di un terzo del mio stipendio e sono bravi equal. The tree in the living room is full of red balls and yellow and gold threads. The crib is under the tree and put my gifts, hiding them a bit 'in order to make a nice surprise to them that are my life. The only thing I have left. I need the sauce. I have to go to market otherwise ste lasagna like I do? The homemade sauce I just can not, or is too runny or too solid. Two envelopes, time, cost two euro and I facilitate the work.

The cashier sees me too often this morning. And I smiled with embarrassment. He understood. The neighbor I saw next to the delicatessen department. Me smile and she lowered her eyes. He bought capito.Non more newspapers, but I passed in front of George the newsagent. Me smile and shrugged. He understood. Everyone understood.

But that it my fault? It is not easy to forty years. It is not easy! My kids have a big room full of games, we have two bathrooms and a garage. We consider ourselves fortunate. Where will we be next year?. Now I want to smash all the windows, those Santas idiots who climb on balconies, deficient as those who live in those houses, smashing all the SUV than the fifth floor who has a wife dressed like a slut, the motor the son of the gynecologist, one of the act who made his fortune with tumors of the losers of the day. Splitting the world. I will not go home, I will not. I want to run, I want a guitar, that is enough for me, and my voice and sing in front of churches and luxury stores, the world, so I liked to think about my future, twenty years ago.

What kind of thoughts do I think of. Find him a job. Now. Whatever. Degree burns, burns the certificates, forget training courses with final toast to the tune of "We're the best! We are the best! "That's another life, boy!

The river, the bridge, tourists taking snapshots unrepeatable. The clear sky, calm water, the castle lit by the sun.

I have a vague thought in my head that numbs a bit 'my anger. I am a brave. I always have been. I look at the skyline. A 200 km is the sea. I'm almost stunned by the idea. Would end all my troubles. Half of the loan would be paid automatically. I have to laugh. I do not feel anything. The hands are warm. My eyes.

A child pulls me my coat and says, "you make me a picture with my parents? They are there embarrassed and smiling. I do not know what to say. I take the camera and the hand begins to tremble. Shooting two, three photos. Returns the machine. "Merry Christmas, sir, thank you." I burst out crying, I see Luke and Barbara, my moglie che fa gli straordinari a Natale, mia madre e mio padre che non ci sono più, la mia stanza da letto, la foto del matrimonio sul comò. La Winx e il trenino. Non riesco a non singhiozzare. Piango. Piango. Ho bisogno di loro.

E’ arrivato il quindici. Mi lascia sotto casa. Timbro il biglietto.