Extract Or Concentrate

GENTLEMEN, START YOUR

ENGINE!
Welcome to the craziest, exciting and dangerous race of the literary world!

Regulation for runners is obvious:
a common theme.

A story of no more than twenty thousand jokes.

A handful of days to realize it.

An audience in the stands ready to support the fastest riders and mock half-cartridges.

first competition for this old fox agreed to participate in the velodrome, beautiful maidens from the pen supercharged, semi-professional amateur brave and reckless, all ready to give no quarter races.

Every driver in the race took part in the race according to his limits and his abilities and was supervised no writing or altered in any way.
If you happen-and I assure you-you happen to run into typos or grammatical patterns in subjects rambling or shriveled, keep in mind that this is a race on the dirt road where it counts the most heart and courage that the technique and reasoning, in which only the most foolhardy to attempt felt.
Do not be surprised if you see some pilot end against a side wall or take an escape route after missing a stop: here we run and run significant risks.
the "Writers Death Race" there is no room for tactical pit-stop or telemetry parameters, here you go with your foot pressed on the gas and cross your fingers on the steering wheel, hoping that the God of Speed \u200b\u200b's has good flow and with big tits.

It 's a beautiful day, the sky is clear and the air was fragrant aroma of burnt rubber and exhaust fumes. You are sitting comfortably in the stands, your hat protects you from the sun beating down and the blonde in the third row has just winked. Buy a sandwich and a cold beer and enjoy the moment of peace: soon there will be room only for the noise of the engines rev up and the screeching of the tires and shiny red-hot fireballs take a door with old carts for your amusement and the domination of a dusty strip of land.
This is "Death Race Writers' people.
could ask for more?

for you who are in the stands. Do you see

the two columns here next? Those on the left of the screen. From that it is not difficult.

Clicking on any of the names of the first list, go to his story.

Read it and if you like, give him a vote of appreciation by clicking on the second list of names.

Important:

you can vote for as many accounts you want but you can only give one vote to each story.

And if you are just in the mood, leave a comment below the story you just read and say things you have thought of. Feel free to make all the noises it considers necessary.

Between 30 days from today, the story the most votes will win the Writers Death Race.

Easy, no?

This is all we had to say.

If you'd like to know who is to blame for such insanity, blame RRobe (curator) and Ottokin (chart).

How To Make A Tahitian Hip Piece

was high, as are all the girls her age, neither more nor less. He wore a green coat over his pajamas when he entered in absolute silence from the big red gate. It was six o'clock in the morning and see a little girl so little around at that time was a bit 'as though Santa Claus had come down the chimney on August 15. The sun had not risen, the air smelled that advances the middle of winter and the lights of the first car melted into the mist. No one had seen her, this, at least, one could safely say. He climbed the stairs, he made sure that my mother was still in his room, still asleep, then sat on his bed, took a little book from under his white pillow and a pen from his desk - one of those pens in four colors, red , green, black and blue. She had always enjoyed writing in red.

I have to hurry. Brivio My name is Eva, I have eight and a half years, almost nine and I have to hurry. I have to write everything down before I go. And find me and get me, I know that I take. But I write fast, faster, and I can not fix, so I'll write more. I'll do a little 'errors, but no matter.

I live in a big yellow and white house, not far from Milan, California. Not in California, California. It is named after the place where I live. It is not a city but not even a village. For me it's big enough. It would be nice to live in California, but my mom would never there, she is afraid of flying. But I'm afraid of bees and the woods. I attend the third grade and I have not thought of anything I'm writing, I promise, cross my heart I could die. Cross my heart could die is an oath, we always do me and my cousin, we do an x \u200b\u200bon the heart and then say: - cross my heart I could die! - And this means that what you say is really true, or else you die. What then die I never understood what it means exactly. My mom uses that word when talking about Dad, but apart from that no longer exists, I see him only in photos and home movies of when we were in Greece together, all I know. I think most people are dead, anyway. My grandmother said that before my father was afraid of flying, not the mother. Then, after he died, his mother came the fear of flying. Perhaps this is that means dying. But I do not know, I have only eight, half past eight, almost nine.

I'm losing time, I find, I have to write faster.

Valdoca and I go to after school oratory S. Francis. I'm always with Laura, who is my cousin but my best friend. She's younger than me and likes classical music, says that will become a great pianist, I think it will be good. He wears overalls and jeans, while I'm always skirts because I have nice legs. Laura and I have the same grandmother and her mom and her dad are my uncles. My mom is older than ten years of my aunt, but my aunt called and Marlena was a child in college.
Yesterday we were playing volleyball in the field behind the church and I saw Max coming down the hall, the one at church. It is usually closed, except when we do the Christmas show - but yesterday was 18 and we are in November. I went down too. I have not told Laura, I did not want to take me around: it says that I like Max, but it is not true. I wanted to see what he was doing, because it was strange and kept his right arm as if it hurt.
Before the show there is a long corridor with walls half brown and half white. To the side there are six doors: I was not all six, only in the store in the bathroom and in the green room (the second left, all over the walls green), where there is television and where Don Luigi locks stocks of candy. I could hear voices coming from that room.
- and tonight - said one of the voices - Tonight at 4. - I never heard anyone talk about 4am. It's stupid, but I was scared.
- Where shall we meet?
- In my house?
- No, everyone has to go out alone, there must be no witnesses.
- See you at the place?
- No, I'll see you behind the wall of Valdoca, the short one.
- At 4?
- At 4.
I thought you wanted to go for a walk at night, frightened, something like that. I did it myself once, I was with Laura at the cemetery at night. But not we are really revenue, I did not want my father to see me. I do not know why I thought such a thing, that's all I was little.
- We should make sure you can not miss. The chalk should be white, take it one each - was the voice of Silvia. Silvia was the most stupid and rich at my school. I did not understand what was he doing there, perhaps he had kissed her with Maximus, but I did not care.
- And do not say anything to anyone as long as you live. Do you have sworn.
- No one will say anything.
- None - said each of them. There were eight entries.
And now I have heard. I do not know how, maybe I breathed in, maybe I pushed the door, do not know. They opened and I fell into it. There were
four girls and four boys. Maybe I should tell you all the names, the names of those who lived, those who come to take me. But I do not know. I promise, cross my heart I could die, we do not know. Massimo and Silvia and I only knew two other girls, Mary and Delia, who is from Peru, and a great guy who makes the medium and is called Loaf - even if it is not his real name. Locked me in with them, they asked me what I had heard - Speak, what you heard! What do you know, fuck? - Shouted Pagnotta beat with a hand on his head and spit on the smoke of his cigarette. And Don Luigi does not allow anyone to smoke. - No, I was ... I have not heard ... nothing ... - I was scared as I've never been afraid in my life. Two other big boys like Pagnotta tried to calm him down, said he was not counting, I was just a child. They made me go out, they did not know what else to do. They told me not to talk to anyone, that if I were not to take home and also took my mother and my father and killed them. And Max said - Leave her alone, she did not have more than his dad. Enough. - Then looked at me without touching me - Go play, Eva -. It was the sweetest thing I ever said, because it seemed that he wanted to kiss me. Maybe my cousin is right.
I did not play and I did not say anything to anyone, not even Laura. I wanted to go into the woods at night. It's the stupidest thing I've ever thought, but it was like when I got to the ear hole. I have insisted so much with the seller of earrings that I believed I had the permission of the mother, even if it was not true, and I did the hole. Here, so I insisted to myself that fear has become something else. I believe that the great use the word excitement. I was excited. My grandmother says that the excitement makes you do a lot of stupid things in life, and he's right.
I knew how. My mother takes pills to sleep, or I have too much stomach pain and has to spend the night eating lots of sugar with a spoon. So I get up at night sometimes and I start looking at the TV or playing computer games. Once that Laura had come to me we played hide and seek and Mom has not woken up even once. So I waited until he fell asleep. I waited. I wanted to go myself, I wanted to be like them, I wanted to be great.

Now, as I write very fast on my diary, and the blood coming out of my feet and my hair is soaked and her lips were cut, now that I've seen it all, does not seem to be big a big deal. Suddenly there are real things and things that are not, but those who are are all wrong.

I took the battery, I put my coat over my pajamas and old sneakers, blue and black ones. I came out from behind, where there is the garden. The first thing I saw was the light of the moon was huge, so big that I could see well without battery and I like shadow on the beach in summer. My dog \u200b\u200bQuana did not say anything. I took the bike and I left the red gate, the big one, because the small one facing the street when the close is too noisy. The mother would not hear anyway, but I do not want to hear.
I cycled to school. There was no one, only four bikes and two scooters. The one loaf is without a body, you see the whole engine. I wanted to go back, but my mother always says that things can never be in the middle.
I jumped the wall and I fell in a bush the other side is much higher. The trail because I knew once I went to the pond with my classmates, we escaped for an hour a substitute and took a bad note for this. I started to run, because to me the woods are scary, yet I can not stay there long way off. Perhaps it has something to do with this excitement, I do not know. He did not feel anything, no animals, only the moonlight and my breath. I came to the factory and the factory over the lake. And suddenly I fell. I opened my eyes and my mouth was full of earth, I spit, something pushed me down hard. It was a knee. I could not see anything, I just feel bad in back. I tried to say something, but a hand pushed me further down in the land. I've eaten yet. I think my lips are broken there. Then I heard the voice calling me Max. - Wait, no! - He shouted and I think there was a stronger light behind my head at that time. Then he got hurt. At first I only heard one shot, then a pain that did not stop and the ground beneath the mouth has started to become wet mud. I drank a little 'blood and knew, also smelled of blood. I was excited, I pushed and cried and the land was ever wet. Then they got up and I touched her head was hurting and was moist and the ground were a bit 'of my hair red. I saw Max standing looking at me sadly. - Sorry, Eva. Why did you come? You had to stay home - I repeat - you had to stay home.
- had to be only eight. You got to do that? - Pagnotta was behind me, it was he who had led me to the ground, struck me and had a boxcutter in hand, one of the red ones with a lot of things inside.
- now it is here.
- Nine will not do, Max, was a sign that you were eight, eight! - Massimo and then raised the sleeve on his arm and there were eight cuts with the crust. That's because if you kept him. He approached Pagnotta, took her knife and became another sign. Without saying anything except: - Now there are nine.

know are coming. They know where I live and will be here. I can not write faster than this, your fingers are behind me, I'm slow, too slow.

They took me with them. I cried because I did not want, even if a little 'I wanted to still be great. They were all there, beyond the forest, near a ravine that I did not see where he was going to finish first and the ravine was a piece of hard earth that ended in a vacuum. The piece of land there were white marks, they were drawing them with chalk.
- did not have to be only eight? - Asked Silvia, she and I was never invited to his birthday parties.
- Never mind - said Massimo and took a piece of chalk and passed it to me. I knew I had to help them finish. They were drawing hopscotch boxes, but that name was Delia mundo. They had already made the Earth and the first six boxes. I did that of 7 and I noticed that the 8 and 9 were right on the limit and it scared me because the last, the box in the sky, just had to stay where there was a vacuum.
Maria approached and told me to take my shoes off, then smile - play? - He said.
- G-games? - I asked as I took off my shoes and I stayed like when you go barefoot in the pool.
- Yes, we're just here to play Eve.
- I was making a joke? You ... are evil.
- No joke, we're playing.
- A bell. Can you play a bell, right? - These numbers were too close to the edge, too. I did not answer.
- You have to play, shit, now that you come here you play! - Shouted Pagnotta, struck again with his hand on his head. So I wanted to leave, but then Mary and Delia have approached me and held her, while Pagnotta has reached out and saw the knife and used the knife and cut me under my feet. This has hurt now, but I still kept my feet and I could not escape and fall. I have narrow feet and wondering why I cried.
- Why yes - I replied.

The blood has not stopped going out and I have soiled the bed and the mother will see him tomorrow. I'm shivering and I have to write faster.

Massimo approached.
- Eva, stop - he said kindly - Eva, you know what is gravity?
- I do not understand - and really did not understand, that is, of course you know what the severity, but what does?
- You know that the earth rotates in space and gravity keeps us stuck to the ground?
-
Yes - And you know what would happen if the world stopped?
- The world can not stop ...
- If you stop will be all thrown in space, everybody dies. There would be the world.
- But I would, right? - It was a stupid thing to say, I know.
- No, you die like your father. And your mom would die, but even if you die you will not be together with you, you will be alone.
- We are here because the world is to stop - said Maria and said so softly that I believed - and we must play in order to continue to run.
- No, not true.
- is true - said that Delia has blue eyes of four different blue and when you feel watching the sea - seems impossible but it's true. Without the game, the world stops, that's why they call mundo.
- is a common occurrence since ancient times, every year, in a different day, in a different place. All over the world. - Scherzo, for strength. How did he know that? But
had nine cuts on his arm and perhaps not joking.
- Okay. - I said. I do not know why. I thought his mother and Laura, and Quan and death if they were my fault I would not be good. I did not mean that they were in the cemetery at night, waiting. Max shook my foot, he did plan as you do with the dolls. There was a smell of ashes at the time, and do not know why, but Pagnotta me smile. And I stayed there. Massimo has dirtied the hand of my blood and I do not know what it means exactly, but I stayed.
- A bell?
- A bell.
I picked up a pebble, not a too big and not too smooth or I slipped and I got in the queue. Did not touch strips for any reason or stop, and I would have liked to ask what happens when you get to heaven. But I have not had the courage.
They started playing and saw that everyone was barefoot and bleeding all. Perhaps because they had run away, or perhaps because the blood had come down in the boxes, I do not know. Massimo has launched its first stone in the box and jumped. Then he did Pagnotta, and so on. And they sang, they sang the songs of children. The arc and that of the vessel and the dance of the quacks.
Faster and faster, as the Earth rotates. - So says Massimo. See the big boys play was odd, especially Pagnotta. It is one that goes to the car with the motor, is stricken with her friends and none of them has a real name. It was playing a bell with me.
- Faster - they said - more quickly - I was afraid, the sky was approaching with its emptiness.
- Faster, Run! Run or the earth stops!
- Run! Silvia
screamed and pushed me and started to yell Massimo himself - Faster, faster!
And I went faster, my head was spinning and jumping as if they were running. I felt the earth move beneath me, I'm not joking. I realized I could not stop because every time I try I felt that I was going to fly away, that the world was stopping. That's it. Cross my heart I could die, that's what happened. And the numbers were contaminated all red and I arrived at 7, I picked my pebble and back. 8 arrived and saw the ravine, but I could not stop and nobody stopped. We sang songs and played. I arrived at 9 and I laughed and sang and laughed louder and louder. Faster and faster. The moon was big, there was so much light and I could see exactly where everything ended. Then a stone came to heaven, everyone sang and laughed because it ended well, because the Earth was safe and the world did not stop. Quick, quick Silvia launched the pebble and the pebble is dropped over the ravine, in the sky, and she was going fast and I laughed and sang and jumped and I saw that I knew that it was true that if they were all dead wrong, it was true, cross my heart I could die I could die, cross my heart was true.
And then I saw more and Earth was saved.

I cried, I cried, I told him I was going to tell everyone that it was wrong that it was better if the world is now dying because Silvia had died and my dad had died and was no good and Massimo came close but I'm escaped. I have run, being in the woods, I was scared, but I ran and I got the bike on the bike and I raced back home, I came here and I wrote everything and now I have finished and they are here. I hear the gate, I feel it coming, my mother did not hear anything because he sleeps.

My name is Eva and I have no more than eight almost nine and a half years, I have a lot more. I grew up in a night, all together, as fast as the publicity of the crystal ball that I like. Now I know a lot more things, things that do not teach you in school. I know that fairy tales always hide the horrors. I know that no one pays attention to children because the adults have forgotten everything they know when they are children. I know because when I stayed with my uncles, my aunt was screaming - Faster! Yes! So! - And I know that when the blood comes from your feet after a while 'you are the ants. I know I sound a body makes when it falls never to rise again. Cross on heart could die, I know. And I know that it was true that this game is a rite, the rite of the ancient world. That holds everything together and that if I stopped Silvia hours we'd all be dead, including you. My heart beat faster and the moon is gone and I keep telling myself that tomorrow, my mum will be the fear of bees and the fear of the forest.

They climbed the stairs in silence. There were seven, all higher than their age. They entered the room, and took her away, as time takes away the pain, like a love erases another, like every summer we sing a new song. Not to get her back again. But Eva Brivio, eight almost nine and a half years, had written everything. It was fast enough.


FERRARI, Alessandro (Milan, 1978).

Alessandro Ferrari is born in Milan on September 1, 1978. It lives at high speed between Bergamo / Orio al Serio and Rome / Ciampino on Ryanair flight of 17:10. He writes and comics writer for the Walt Disney Italy. He has created, in collaboration with a painter, a photographer and an actress, 'Athens, March 14, 1997', a comic opera in 2004 shows in Milan and province in haunted houses and desecrated churches. And that is enough. His blog is here .

Installation Guide Honeywell Rth2310

What speed?
If you ask any physics book will tell you which represents the change of the position of a particle, referring to the time when the change takes place. In other words, the ratio between the distance traveled and time taken to travel. There will also
nice example of the snail, which is located at the point x1 at time t1 and is found later at the point x2 at time t2. But
never be able to describe what the speed is for me. What's my nature and always makes me want to know only once.
pure poetry.
everything happens in a flash: the impact of the striker on the capsule due to the killing of the dog creates a spark that ignited my soul with gunpowder, creating high-pressure gas pushing my sleek and stylish metallic body to the outside.
toward the target.
While the cart is pushed back by the energy released and brought back in place by a spring to withdraw one of the other, win with grace opposite the friction from the barrel, leaving its imprint on my helical grooves a rotary motion along the ground ' longitudinal axis.
E 'at the moment it ceases to be only a matter of physics and aerodynamics. It appears in all its simplicity, the thrilling evidence of my existence.
I was born to bridge the distance between the point x1 and x2, and only the target can not stop my running. No matter who he is.
A wall chipped.
A rusty tin.
A tinkling glass bottle.
soft, warm flesh.
another target, suddenly come between me and the original target.
The same brain that ordered the hand to pull the trigger. Once launched
down my dish has only bend space and time around my slim body. Getting sick. Flatter. Seduce with concave reflections on my cold skin.
speed is accomplished, exhausted.
and run. Chasing
. Until
me no choice but to echo in the air confused.



Trentani Francis. 26. Degree in Conservation of Cultural Heritage. Curator of the fanzine "Omniverse" (free download from the site soon http://www.blue-area.net/ ).

Pctv Tvcenter Pro Windows 7

The needle touches 200. I am the Buddha.
The entire universe is pumping through my veins. My conscience embraces the whole. Every single gear machine is part of me, and I am part of everything. My heart beats to the rhythm of the pistons. My mitral valves open and close like those of the cylinders. My muscles vibrate according to the irregularities of the asphalt. The road belongs to me.
is satori. I am the Buddha.
no longer I that I drive my car. It is no longer the machine is guided by me. We are all one. I'm on the seat like I was in zazen, the cabin is my temple. The road runs beneath me, smooth as a silk scarf. The curves become straight, the bumps and the bumps are flattened and every move I make to follow the direction is automatically measured, perfect. Not based on rational thought, but only on the need to do at that precise moment, in that exact order. I have full and absolute control, everything belongs to me and nothing is part of me. My hands held the steering wheel, but not the strings, caressing my foot pedals. There is no need of forced movements, sudden or violent.
are pure action. I am the Buddha. Around
me in the streets of the port area of \u200b\u200bthe city rush, but in my mind is as if they were stationary. The stores, loading bays, the piers are part of me, contribute to this perfection in which each second lasts forever. Left, then slightly right, then left again. Then a long straight that leads to the point of no return. My fate is decided here and now, at this bend in the bottom of the pier, with an abandoned warehouse and into a wire mesh semiarruginita out to be my bodhi tree, but has been established for ever. It is a moment frozen in time, but it is the decisive one. I'm getting closer, more and more. There are. Nothing can go
wrong. I am the Buddha.
Scalo from fifth to second, I turn the steering wheel and help slightly with the hand brake. The tires scream consonants, centrifugal force tries to move, but I do not feel it. The laws of physics do not concern me, not at this time.
just heard that the wheels are recovering grip open. Foot to the floor and thumb button. Drain the third, then fourth, and fifth in quick succession. It's time. A flow of nitrous oxide invades the inlet of the cylinder, piston cooling and saturating the oxygen. When the candle is spark, the explosion is much more powerful. The result is simple: the car speeds up suddenly. The engine roars, my heart beats the same speed. The move is part of me, my muscles, my veins. I feel the nerves as a blaze burned out by the powerful discharges, heat is lost from my pores. The step forward is so abrupt that anyone else would be sucked into the seat, but not me. I am in zazen, and are part of the acceleration. I am the sound of one hand. For me, speed does not exist.
The pointer is over 220, then 230. I am the Buddha.
the landscape whizzes around me, but I can see every little detail. Reflections on the windshield of the rain the remnants of torn posters on the walls of the store that I rush past. Everything around me has a role and contributes to the perfection, and to make the world perfect. Accelero yet. On top of a hill the wheels come off the ground. The car flies, but it is as if he were still glued to the asphalt, perfectly balanced and balanced, so that the landing is soft and natural, without any shaking. Do
another burst of nitrous, then close my eyes. My senses are so sharp and focused that I did not need vision. I hear the street noise, the smell of gasoline and rubber, the roughness of the asphalt under the wheels, the taste of my own adrenaline, and I know exactly where I was, where I am, where I'll be.
The world loses its importance but remains the center of everything. I am the Buddha.
My opponent tries to stop me from passing, but by the time it takes to try to close the road, I am already over. I do not need to make sudden maneuvers. Everything is smooth, natural and automatic. Simply, I am in a higher level of consciousness, and I know what has to happen before it happens. The last two curves is as if there were. An outside observer would not see even the movements of the machine, would see a single stream with no trimming or unnecessary movement. For a brief second
ending the secrets of the universe are within my reach. I can hear them, I can almost touch them. I am the Buddha, now and forever. Then

everything passes. Drew breath. Inhale, exhale. The heart rate returned to normal levels. Repurchase consciousness of my body, my hands, my eyes. My limbs tremble slightly as a result of the effort just past the heat escapes out of my skin. Slowly, the world returns to be anything other than me. My individuality takes over again, away from it all.
The great moment has passed, like a long orgasm, and once again I approached a small step to perfection. But there are still come. My journey is made by the route taken and to be done, not just the destination. I am left with only a slight sense of nostalgia for that communion with the universe. And I know that feeling of unity, completeness, addictive. I feel we should try again soon. It's like a drug, the road speed. But in the end of the tunnel, the light you see is bright and beautiful.

"Shit, it's good that you're practically unbeatable, but you should see that you face when playing Need for Speed!"


Roman, Romanesque, husband, father, a fan of Springsteen.
To live is the copywriter, but at night wearing a cloak and wanders through the city fighting crime. Then he wakes up, based on his comic book on the bedside table, turns around and goes back to sleep.
His blog can be found HERE

Sell Character Popmundo

Evangeline walked to the exact center of the road, and all of these eyes were fixed on her ass, swaying rhythmically step by step, under a pair of jeans so tight as to be deemed illegal in at least two counties.
All eyes were fixed on her ass hypnotic, even though most of the boor present were there only to see the cars run, the heavenly ass Evangeline was a show that was worth it to follow, at least for a moment.
And she knew it.
reached the middle of the road, a long ribbon of asphalt bisected by a yellow line. Evangeline turned around, putting himself standing on his feet, straddling the its wards. Someone began whistling, like the cowboys. Evangeline
raised his right arm, smiling to the call, he had a bandana tight in his fist, the flag printed on it was the most beautiful in the world.
The Stars and Bars of the Confederate States, stirred moved by the wind between the fingers of Evangeline, the moment had subsided, the two machines rumbled five yards from her would be games. This was the signal.
The long-awaited sign, in what many expect to receive for life, a sign that God can show you the way forward, or the choices you have to do in that case came from a blonde goddess of twenty-two years, with holding the flag that accompanied the heroes of Gettysburg.
The choice that you said was very simple to make.
crushes his foot on the accelerator, she embraces the faith of the speed, burning ten miles of asphalt, get to the Pitts and Johnson's back, before he does the guy who shoots the lane next to yours.
In confirmation of the act of faith, the engines of two cars that Evangeline in front of him, roared when she raised her arm.
Both drivers fix their gaze on that flag, waiting for the signal, keeping the engine revved up, ready to leave the clutch to a furious start.
Greg Palmer was driving a black 1971 Plymouth Barracuda, brand new. Under the hood was a 426 V8 with hemispherical combustion chamber, fed by two carburettors quadricorpo Carter by 550, 425 discharged and 350 shaft horsepower to the rear wheels.
Down in the village, between the tables of Cletus Inn, the guys were saying that Greg was able to shoot the Barracuda from zero to sixty mph in less than four seconds, but almost always used to say quietly, because the laws they have to be whispered.
Bruce Ladd was driving a Dodge Charger R / T 1970, bottle green.
Mounting an engine 440 Six Pack, 8-cylinder V, powered by three double barrel Holley carburetors, three carburetors for two bodies, or a pack of six, as the cans of beer.
Months earlier, in May the hottest in memory of Texas, many had Bruce seen along a quarter mile in fourteen seconds.
Greg and Bruce had known for years and probably hated each other even before the coming into being. While it is true that each is the master of its own destiny, it is also true that no one can choose where in the world born. Greg Ladd and Bruce Palmer were both born in Lorraine, Texas.


Hole-in-ass Lorraine, Texas, was a place where one drugstore so small enough for everyone, and it was impossible for us two cocks without scratching, at least, allow them to inflate their breasts and peck every now and then. The old parchment
sputatabacco that under the arcades of the hole-in-ass main street, had understood early on that those two, as well as hate, would be finished soon in trouble.
And so, a gob of spit in another, fantasized about traveling to the mothers weeping in prison
Huntsville, a shotgun wedding, or the untimely death of one of two violent death, stay certain friend, who will end up like that.
In 1962, just turned sixteen, Greg and Bruce sat behind a steering wheel, and began to get busy, to keep expectations. Live fast, die young and leave a good corpse.
Every now decided to take a little 'punch, especially if they found themselves both in the parking lot of the Starlight, which happens often, since it was the only Starlight Drive In the fifty-mile radius to have a decent programming.
The only chance for the people Lorraine, was that they had both a character too lonely to put on a band. Otherwise, yes there would be serious trouble for everyone.
Greg, in the end, he graduated as a champion of street racing. Many
spoiled children came from Austin to challenge him, we return the machine and a sea of \u200b\u200bdollars. On Sunday morning, you could see the bus station, with a gray face, a groom's time to go home.
Bruce, preferring the thrill of charging in the back that particular category of passengers who, after a levy to the bank, needs a fast switch to a safe place.
And if sampling is done at the bank with a shotgun Remington 870 Wingmaster 12-gauge to have a driver in the leg becomes a priority.
For years, Sheriff Coburn, a huge man of fifty, as a docile coyote tangled in barbed wire, had decided to torment the citizens of the two bullies.
The budget of the private war between the Sheriff Coburn and the two axes of the wheel of Lorraine, was strongly in favor of the last two. In addition to having eaten
shovel dust, swallowed gallons of bile, crumbled Bruce Ladd chasing a Ford Galaxie, Chevrolet Impala and a cast in a head to head with Greg Palmer, we had also put the two front teeth bumping into the wheel of his Plymouth Fury.
was too much even for a mastiff like Coburn. Then he decided that those two would have thought God directly, perhaps in the form of a nail that was a tire exploding, or making them go into a curve with the wrong trajectory. Or, and had a thought on which brooded a long time, God could take the form of an articulated Mack 18-wheel, you put it across the track before he realized one of the two to be sitting on a rocket of steel and that it was impossible to stop in the space between them.
Well, sooner or later those two bastards would die.
Coburn had only to wait, go to the dentist, drive slowly and give a lot of kick ass Hippie of the passage.
declared war on those fucking Volkswagen vans, and lived happily.
That day, July 31, 1971, the two axes of Lorraine, who knows why, decided to compete directly. A classic race circuit, from Pitts Hill to Johnson's return.
The news of a car ride that saw them compete against each other, had traveled along Highway 281 from Stephenville to Hamilton, until down to Lampasas, touching the shores of Lake Buchanan.
In fact, by the roadside, waiting for the tires of the Barracuda and Charger scream in the heat of departure, there was a lot of people.
From the lake had risen a couple of the Swamp Rat, on board of an old pick-up.
Now he stood there, hands in the pockets of their dungarees, to see what the fuck was going on, and it was worth it to come up to it, or whether it was better to stay in the barracks at Camp fuck his cousin.
For the most part, the audience was made up of motoring enthusiasts, and it was clear from what were the cars that were treated at the roadside. It was a wonder of the open garage. Besides the shitty Pick Up the Rat, was a Dallas Cowboys, with her buttocks resting on the hood of his Corvette Stingray 327, midnight blue.
looked toward the two who were about to leave, and occasionally throwing glances at the kind of challenge before him, across the street. A thin, nervous little chap
, who had to draw on its Dodge Super Bee 440, a hell of a fire that started from the hood and sides fired.
Two years earlier, Ford had called a philosopher and a team of mechanics, and asked if we could give the concept of Man in the steel. They said yes, and I was out the thesis of philosophy called Mustang Shelby GT 500. On that road they had come six, and sweating testosterone from exhaust pipes.
All had arrived there to find out who was the best. To see with their eyes as the Charger had Bruce addressed the bend of the sixth mile, a path difficult to maintain over the 110 miles per hour, and it was important to take in, not to be burned on the next straight.
Shortly before Johnson's Pitts was a bump, and that bastard made the difference. Many of us had put the suspension, others were thrown out of the way, his back had boosted their cars, like a rattlesnake which is a runaway horse. That hill would also bite Barracuda Greg?
The road soon, he would answer all questions within its competence. Unfortunately, some answers even the track was able to give her.
Because those two had decided to compete?
What was at stake?
Nobody knew but Bruce and Greg, and none had had the courage to go and ask.
ran this matter, and it was enough to gather all the Hill to attend that game meant to be told quietly, because that is how you tell the legends.
Evangeline walked to the exact center of the road and turned around, putting himself standing in the foot, on horseback of its wards.
raised his right arm, had a bandana tight in his fist, the flag printed on it was the most beautiful in the world. The shooting down
.
And Bruce and Greg went against their fate.



Writer atomic forces in the Bonelli (Napoleon, Zagor, Dampyr) and BD (Milano Criminale). Expert secret things, runs with a black car, screened from the rays 'Z' sent to his brain from Zeta Reticuli.
find her blog HERE.

The Loss Of A Mother In Law

The last thing I remember is the wind that slaps my face. That and the world around me hurtling gradually becoming less defined contours.

I first, I think. Cast a quick glance behind me, a few inches away from a guy blond and tall as a pole after me. It reminds me a bit 'Stan Laurel.
The blond does not bother me that much, but it is better to be careful, the rest was for years a sample in this kind of racing. But that was before I arrived, of course.

One thing is certain: I'll win this race because I'm younger, faster, and are then I do not have a face like my ass. Cut off the line first and then maybe I will eat a steak tonight as it should.

The blond is trying to overcome, as soon as I get close enough for me for a couple of shots off levarmelo. He did not enter his head to the lanky, there is no place for him in this world. E 'past history and will understand soon, very soon.

The goal is approaching faster and faster. Laurel continues to try, to no avail. Then do the biggest shit of my life, I make a last look at my pursuer. It 's all tense, his face flushed with the effort of the race and shit, I could swear that he is crying. Yes, it is just crying.

So, a few meters from the finish line burst out laughing like a jerk. The blond man with his face flushed, that stupid grin on his mouth and tears in my eyes it looks like Stan Laurel, Stan Laurel after Hardy seems to have slapped, or things like that.
'm an idiot, I can not stop laughing, my race is broken and you take me stomach cramps. And right there, one step away from the end, Stan and dashes forward, porcaputtana me over and finishes.

Suddenly I hear gunshots, or gun or checcazzonesoio. I fall on my knees, then darkness.


Incredible, swiped from Laurel and Hardy.

How did that guy say? "A laugh will bury you." Nothing is more true in my case, especially considering that it is carrying out death sentences in these times. Bastards ...
grant clemency only to the winner.

"Running the Mile awaits you every Friday at 21:00 on the national channel.
It 's a program sponsored by the Ministry of Justice. "



Zaurino Flavio, 21, from Puglia. Taught literature at the University of Bari, among other things, an aspiring cartoonist. Random words, delusions, and my drawings on her blog

Prices For Haircuts At Jcpenney Salon

To better address a corridor of the hospital you have to look into the void, in that he is somewhere between the eyes and nose. The colors around you - blue, white, gray and green - turn them into stones of no value, beads expendable in exchange for food and indigenous women. Odor of alcohol and I do something significant and delicate, like an origami swan that has never flown. Nurses shuffling around, that's their job, goblins and sweet smiling euchessine for the soul flooded relatives. Here, you have come. The room is the one they are imitating, where you're annoying like an old uncle who comes to see you on Sunday morning, smoking and MS reciting of sadness when he was happy.
Your mother smiles, because she thinks you came to take her home.
Not so, however. It's never the case, because the end, if you think about it, write them all the same.
Then the combs carefully pour the water outgassing and tell how it is good to be almost gone. Then you turn around and see. And your life revolves around that thing, your brain starts to make the flag as a lifeguard thin clinging to a wooden pole on the beach Cerenova.
The drop of the infusion.
is so slow that it can not serve at all. But your mind is now bright and articulate a concept, a cross answer, and you put on that killer smile of a poet.
The drop is too fast for the human eye.
No, we did not: it is a different.
The drop is like the minute hand of the clock, fast and slow at the same time. Growing drop of saline, boil, drip into the tubing, enters nell'agocannula, it explodes in his veins. Nothing is faster, no slower, anything that distorts and tortures more time.
Look at the comb and is full of hair.
The table is full of magazines.
All around, a sudden, there's too much stuff that goes fast and you discover that in spite of yourself be part of an MTV generation: spectacular images, no content, advertising that interrupts the music, you make up your machine, you build a house that looks like to a ship, we'll talk tomorrow.
And your mother, who wants to talk all at once, has always been faster than you, your lateral thinking, your lack of media stimulation. She cleared
who still had not finished eating, did the dishes when you were sleeping, spending time in those deaths that are lined up between the toilet seat and a call for football. You
games, carrying the ball and T-shirts.
She does not play any more.
And time in the hospital, is still a prisoner of the infusion.
Too fast, too slow.
too much for you, who have normal shoulders and reluctance to imagine what is beyond the break-advertising.
But a trick you do, you are born premature, rubbing a gynecologist, your father and the astrologer.
Too fast, too slow, too furious.
Greetings and you're away. Viewed from behind, you look small and tired, but you're only a relative who arrived too late to ask the doctor something they already know.
You're a drop in the drip, a radio controlled alarm clock, a calendar page from butcher of the old year, with over a note written by your mother
sugar, salt, baby food for cats, chips pai.
These are the things that do more harm, why should you know them and do not know.



Lorenzo Bartoli does not have its own biography, but he is writing one.
We can tell you that an asset is a writer with three novels ("Dolls", "Overminder", "Hearts by Bar"), which is a comic book writer ("John Doe", "Detective Dante") and that in Leisure is the artistic director dell'Eur Editorial.
THIS is his blog.

The Strongest Wood In World

"We gotta get out while we're young
`cause tramps like us, baby
We Were Born to Run" Bruce Springsteen

1996

A rich young American, Alex Roy, in Paris to pursue dreams of celebrity novelist, he understands that writing is way too slow for his lust for glory.

1976

In the first frame of a short French law "Le film a été voir que vouz alles Réalisé sans aucun trucage ni Accel.

2006

Alex Roy in a decade has built a dream: to break the record for crossing the United States of America: The Cannonball Run. The film that inspired it is not an ugly phone comedy with Burt Reynolds, Roger Moore, Dom De Luise and Farrah Fawcett, but rather the work of a French film debut, a damned Frog with a pechant for Vitesse.

1996

Alex Roy has just seen the movie (a movie, not even on YouTube), and was impressed, inspired, shocked. Although it has very beautiful blonde girl who wants to vacation there in-studio ... and even more 'has left his country of origin. He knew that smile at the end of the race is allegorical: the reward for those who have found the way to realize their dream. And if that road has traveled much of the race.

1976

Claude Lelouch is a young French director who devoted a morning in August to record a short film featuring a Ferrari launched at breakneck speed through the streets of Paris, in spite of the limits and cops and slow-time appointment comes with a beautiful blonde girl.

2006

Alex Roy found the name of his blond girl: Cannonball Run.
The crossing of the country, from east coast to west coast from New York to Santa Monica, California.
A serious and American cultures as the car: free, fun and fast. The primacy
from ocean to ocean, before attempting to Alex, is 32 hours and 7 minutes.
A record recorded before the Patriot Act, the explosion GPS devices, the obsessive control of the police, the municipal budget cuts that have transformed the agents fundraiser for public administration.
Today, Big Brother's eyes are wide open, and evading them is very firm for a few.




1976

"C'etait a rendez vouz, which today can bring a smile to people's jaded by years of video games in first person, is extraordinarily exciting for its time. It allows you to live, thanks to the camera live, the thrill of a race at breakneck speed, with peaks up to 220 km / h, in the streets and alleys of Paris, in the role an anonymous pilot. These
was suspected more 'to be late or Jacky Ickx Jacques Lafitte, both in the extended network of the director who ended up in prison so as not to satisfy the curiosity of the police.
That only served to increase his fame, and also the voices who wish to commit the same Lelouch dozens of violations, driving the Ferrari 275.

2006

It will take 31 hours and 4 minutes to get to the smiling blonde girl dream of Alex.
The traffic violations can be in the hundreds.
A record that, like all others, is intended to be short-lived.
will certainly be beaten by someone else, including some time, for reasons that probably The record will not explain well. If you do not feel the need to do that, having run.



Marco Schiavone was once a serious person.
Today is the big boss of Edizioni BD

What Do Warts Look Like When They Start

The phone rings at the least suitable of the day. Late afternoon, dusk. I gave the job to finish, to complete, but no, nothing doing. Antonio called me from the printers, voice dry and shaken, tells me that the file is corrupted, that the version of Xpress that there can not handle such a complex work, in fact, that not even open.
Unknown Error.
Unknown Error.
Unknown Error.
me through the phone that Mirco, who manages the station Onimo Xpress.
After a couple of technical information, Mirco I reveals that their version of the program goes back a couple of years ago ', the boss of the printer had to update the program but then no one has ever done to save a few euro, essentially asking me if I may refer the file by saving it urgently for an earlier version.
Farewell cocktail of 19:00, no Campari with friends, I have to work.
I put in front of the monitor that are the 18.45, the job must go to press before 19.15 otherwise we never hand him over for the next day and my client did not have in hand in time for its convention. In fact they are stuck, I have to do it now, I have to do it now. I open the file.
Unknown Error.
Unknown Error.
Unknown Error.
The file is damaged, does not open, none of it. I close the program, reopen it, do not have time for this bullshit, open this file and do not break!
No, none of it, off all the fonts, they must be messing around, yeah, they must be, I close everything, reboot everything, from fast, fast. No, I do not want to know, does not open and gives me the same message.
Unknown Error.
Unknown Error.
Unknown Error.
Suspicion of having to redo the work again takes me by the throat, makes me cold sweat.
If there's one thing I hate in this work is a remake twice what you had already done and finished and given to sales, then suddenly I remember my teacher. Any suggestions of my mentors in front of these problems. He, the unforgettable Luciano, a genius who died too soon.
Luciano had advised me, when there is such trouble, opening a new file and then groped clean Xpress to open the corrupted file again.
I do not know why and I do not care to know, but it works. I look at the clock, 19.10, there is still time, if the mail is my help, we, here it is open, resave it to safety with a different name for it! everything ok!
I close everything and reopen everything for verification work. It still works, no:
Unknown Error.
Unknown Error.
Unknown Error. Enter
everything Mirco and call to make sure that the receiving time. The
receives and opens it, looks alright, there we are. My client will have his morning-fold company brochure, the day is saved, the bill as well, about 19.22 clock, I still have time.
I can do for sure, I have to do it, I can not miss.
's been less than forty minutes from the call of typography. Now I'm here, sitting at the table of the usual small bar downstairs, sipping Campari with friends without any unknown error.



Paul "ottokin" Bell was born graphic designer and illustrator, writes often without knowing it, writing about everything and everything can be found in this anthology of fiction well without understanding why.
has published a book written and illustrated children's issues for BD (Tales of Campetto) and has a blog (visitatissimo) and a site (less visited) that is redesigning.

Persuasive Essay Surveillance

On his first crime scene were two men who were chatting quietly, arms crossed in front of the corpse.
Sasha was already angry because he was late and the traffic in that city insipid (La Spezia, without "The" they told) was a mess.
In most threatening to rain.
trentacinquina The first man was on the air and had cop.
The second guy was a slim, tall, dressed as a goth, that the scene had nothing to do. Perhaps a witness, Sasha thought, approaching.
"It could be suddenly popped out from behind the corner," he was saying the cop blonde giving a little further, "he or she has invested for the mistake. Then, wanting to provide help, did reverse to go back, but unfortunately she caught again. Seeing that it was already dead, he's gone. Scary stuff, but clearly the mobile has nothing to do. Of course, he would have denounced the death, but we want to stop this? "
The boy nodded Gothic. "Your theory is flawless, Mainardi. Was not a very good driver. Seeing that time was already dead - and as a street so narrow it is difficult to maneuver ... "
" I understand your point, sir, "interrupted the blonde cop. "In your opinion, which is passed over a third time is suspect."
"A Spezia? Not really. "Gothic shrugged. "The other day I saw someone was doing a reverse round."
"I mean," asked the blond.
"Nothing. One can see that he had missed his exit, so he decided to go back in reverse, rather than go ahead and do all around. "
Gothic scratched his chin thoughtfully. "There is a detail that does not convince me, though. The fact that after be his third time over the past has fallen and has finished to crush what remained of the head with a shoe to me indicates a certain bitterness. "
The blonde leaned over to look.
"Ah. I had not noticed. "
" Without taking anything away from your theory, I think it would be more practical to think of a murder. She only like corpses, miss, or is here for some reason? "
Sasha jumped.
had followed the exchange with growing concern, only to withdraw from the situation. The boy had turned Gothic and was watching her with two small gray and penetrating. Except that, look better, it was not just a boy. He must have passed the thirty-five, at a minimum.
"I am the deputy inspector added Sasha Damiani," he said. "Sir?" He added, clearly doubtful.
"Deputy Inspector-added?" Repeated the blonde cop, frowning.
"Ah, yes, yes," nodded the Gothic. "I forgot to tell you. You move Catanzaro, she is here to take your place. "
The blond did not even answer.
"I am Inspector Roberto Mainardi and this is the Commissioner Herman Sensi."
Sasha extended a slightly sweaty hand. "I've heard all good things to you, sir. Of his time undercover in the satanic cult, the value of the coin ... I'm really-
"Eager to make a career, yes, I see. Look, if I were you, I speak directly to Salvemini. "
" It would be the commissioner, "he explained Mainardi, obliging. He took the other a dirty look and said, "Sure, it's not as sexy as the boss."
Sasha smiled nervously.
"definitely thinner. Well, Damiani, take a look too. What do you think? "He moved aside to allow it to see the corpse.
Sasha was cold like a professional while also vomited on amphibians of the head.

Diego, her boyfriend, was manifested in the kitchenette. Greta
At first she had not noticed that it was clearly dead.
"It's still raw," he said, referring to the pasta.
"It does not matter," she responded Diego, making up the head shot.
to put on the alert was not so much the stamp of the supernatural, as he had just remembered that that evening he did not had returned. What was he doing, then, right next to the stove?
"Diego?" She asked, bewildered. "Diego, where the chiatarra?" He added, then.
"flattened," he said, he, with a final gesture.
Greta began to cry without knowing why.
He was approached and had laid a hand on his arm. It was not a particularly pleasant sensation.
"Christ, you are ..."
"Cool. I know. "
Greta had decided to watch it. But what was to be added to the fact that he was dead? There was no question about it, even though he had nothing else usual.
No injuries in plain sight, for example.
Not a greenish color.
no clothes torn.
was just dead.
"What happened?" He asked at last.
He had mentioned the pot. "He goes soft."
Greta had extinguished the fire. "Well?"
"Then nothing. I have put in the car. "
She had covered her mouth with one hand.
"And it was ..."
"Instant, yes. At least that. I'm sorry for your guitar. Tell him, your brother. "
" Yes, of course, will be my first thought, "he replied, wiping her eyes with back of his hand. "But pig fuck, you think that the way to do? You show up here as if nothing had happened, dead? "
" No, I had to first send a registered letter? It was something a bit 'sudden, if you know what I mean. I have twenty-six, fuck. "
Greta opened her mouth to say something - perhaps he meant that was typical arguing even after his death - but Diego had stopped with a gesture. "Go to the door, we'll talk later."
Greta had frowned. "I'm going to open to whom?"
The bell had rung at that point. "At the police. They came to give you the news. "
She had delivered a laugh scraping. "What timing."
"Yeah. If I were you I would put away my jacket before. There's something in his right pocket. "
Greta had established hastily, but he remained impassive. "You told me you had stopped."
"Now I did," he replied, calmly.

Sensi turned on her stomach and gasped for a few seconds.
"Christ," he muttered. He slipped off the condom carefully, the knotted and threw it in a corner of the room, to keep company with her other two boyfriends.
The deputy inspector added Damiani leaned out of his bed and began to rummage among his clothes, which were piled up sprawled on the ground.
Commissioner lived in an attic in the center of La Spezia, a very weird place furnished, where the two were finished after a series of unprofessional preliminary machine. At least the lack of professionalism for Sensi was the norm, and was not at all worried about where they were, but after a while, 'she realized that she would not like to be caught by the road with his trousers down. The rain on the skylight
ticked sleep.
"Tell me you do not mind if I smoke," said Damiani.
"I'm very flexible," replied the other.
She laughed and lit a cigarette and inhaling deeply. "I had never seen someone with a piercing there. But you just emerged from a period of coverage? "
" Not recently, no. I saw that I can effectively groping in the dark without blacks cut the throats of cocks and learn long litany in Latin. "
" Which is what you did before? "
" Yeah. "Does not seem eager to share his experience, but unfortunately it was just what I was interested in Sasha.
'Well, you've won a medal. A promotion ... "
Sensi took a wry smile. "... An imperishable fame, right. I do not think you'd like to know what we have earned seriously. "She winked
. "Apart from the tip of a piercing ..."
"What I consider him an advantage. And it seemed that not even sorry for you. "
Sasha laughed like a fool.
"Still quiet, I am now a productive member of society. The punishment for this crime, it seems, is having to figure out who to Spezia, investing through a hobby. Seen as driving normally could be anyone. "
" It's not that he has much of a case today, "she admitted.
"I realized that the flight had what it takes to become a good detective."
Sasha gave him a polite smile. Had just swept for the third time, then, thought Sensi, educated, with him, had been, but it was nice for him to continue to pretend to appreciate his humor even when he did not understand the jokes. The closer he held the glass on the bedside table because he used it as an ashtray.
"Because I did not understand how or why the case went to bed with his head on the first day of work?" She inquired.
"I'm sorry to repeat myself, but for the career fast you must go to Salvemini. I have known the folklore of the police, nothing more. And my career as fast as I have had. No, I was referring to distraction. It is essential to be able to send an inquiry to hell as quickly and painlessly. The real professionals do it. "
Sasha seemed stung.
"Yeah, well '. If someone had informed me that one today was the fourth victim of a pirate of the road, maybe I would not have seemed so smart ass. "
Sensi turned. He was pale, too thin, her hair matted, long and blacks, and had a tangle of thin scars on the side of his chest ... but it was not bad.
"I was joking, Sasha," he said, soft, and she clearly understood that this was the first and last night we spent together. What I did not understand was what the rodesse. He vowed that the scar on his chest was shaped pentacle, among others. He put out his cigarette in the glass, as he began to fondle her on her side, almost hypnotic. "I just wanted to say that even beginning to follow this case has neither head nor tail. And you know something weird? The first three victims were some strange dreams before he died. I should not wonder if he had made the fourth. "
" strange dreams like? "Sasha asked, tense.
He smiled slyly. "Two white lights, paired, that approach jumps, zigzagging, closer and closer ... until the morning."
"The victim's girlfriend told me today ..."
"Shh. Come here. What There, you're cold? "
Sasha shook her head and let himself embraced by the Commissioner. His body was warm, reassuring, even though he was not at all. It seemed that his shadow did not belong to him, like Peter Pan. Maybe Sasha was just awakening from too many hours.
"You think it's a coincidence," he asked.
"I believe in coincidences for bias. You do not know how much work they save. "
" And in this case? "
He smiled again. "Unfortunately I have already finished the holidays."
Sasha laughed, but still had goose bumps. He began to kiss her on the side of the neck, making him considerably increased.
"I can not I'm supposed to worry, it's always been my fault, I know. Someone is killing the guys investing. Why? Bho. "
smiled slowly. "Maybe it's a plan to solve the problem of trafficking break."
She curled up against him better. "By killing all the pedestrians, one by one? It seems a little 'car. "
" Not more than create a system of ring roads - round - in an L-shaped town, and our planners have succeeded very well. And then it's usually a pawn, in turn, a motorist, even if at another time. "
He bent to suck a nipple, a sign that he had not yet had enough.
"Just wait," she whispered.

"I knew they would come back, 'said Diego. "Just wait. I'm late, anyway. "
Greta looked at him inquiringly. Since he died he expressed himself more foolish than usual, although one must admit that stains less and no longer complained of how to cook. Why not eat even more, to think of it.
"Who is behind Diego?" He asked.
"Cops," replied the other, as if it were more obvious taxes. "I'm just out here. A young woman with a very old man. He can not see it, but be careful. She is just any a bitch. "Greta
not doubted his words. Lately he seemed to have a direct line to God or something.
"Ok, I'll go from there. You know how to respond, though. "Diego got up and kissed her forehead.
Cool.
was always cold, that was all.
"I have not done anything," Greta said, irritated.
"Yes, but I usually say it does not make a good impression," he laughed, and disappeared through the door into the next room.

The doorbell rang.
were two, just as he said Diego. She could meet the definition of "any bitch," but he was not not at all old. It did not seem even a policeman.
He put his nose in front of the badge and introduced himself.
"Commissioner Herman Sensi. My colleague, Deputy Inspector Damian. He has a few minutes? "
Greta nodded and stepped aside. Even if he said no they would enter it here just.
Gothic sat on the couch as if it were a family in the same place that until recently was occupied by Diego.
"Can I offer you something," asked Greta, anxious not to look anxious.
"His opinion on an odd fact," he said. Under the leather jacket had a sweatshirt from the Red House Painters, noted with dismay Greta. Other than the crisis of vocations, Police had to have the most serious problems in recruiting.
"last month," he went on living the puzzle, crossing his legs to his complete ease, "we had four deaths were almost identical."
He remained silent, watching.
"Oh yeah," she stammered at last.
"People invested, passed back and forth, if you understand what I mean, and then ended - not that any were really needed - to heel strike. Charming, I assure you. My colleague here, I vomited all over the lunch on the shoes, the last time. "
The deputy inspector became something of an intense purple hue.
"I wondering if this would tell her nothing. "
Greta shook her head quickly. The woman-cop behind her, looked askance.
"Strange. You know, I thought I remembered the death of Diego Galanti, a month and a half ago. He too was hit, I think. "
Greta nodded stiffly.
"Yes, I suppose to wake up some bad memories. I wondered if he knew that our four victims - the last four, I mean - you know. It took a while 'to find out. You know why? "
Greta denied again with his head.
"They would go to hell together. The four, I say. "
" I have an alibi, "he stammered Greta, with perfect timing.
"But that's great," said the commissioner, in a tone of cheerful, and sat on the couch better.



*** "I do not mean to criticize, but ..." Damiani began as soon as they came out.
The rain had increased tone. In that city, it seemed, was always raining.
"will be missed. I see that now when a woman is happy, and you're jumping for joy, "Sensi said, sarcastically. He passed the car keys. "It is better if you go home, because I'm going to give you new reasons for unhappiness. To you and your career faster. "
" Herman, listen to the other evening ... "
" Oh, I figured, no big deal. Serving the citizens, that's all. Now get on that car, ok? "The
Damiani, confused, you left wheel in the cockpit.
What happened inside the house the suspect was very strange. She was agitated, almost terrified. It must have been trivial, but Sasha was his reaction seemed rather suspicious.
But he had left to lose, simply. Sasha set in motion.
Commissioner was to observe it until it was gone, with his air of detached and almost sad, then he retrofront.
was not exactly a man of action, but he had other qualities unusual. The door of the house of
Galanti fell with a thud under his football. From the wood stood a sort of hissing sound, as if the rain had cooled suddenly had something that was very hot.
effect by paying no attention to the cries of the girl.
"Come on, come out," he said quietly, but no less menacing. "I heard you."
A dead guy came out of a locked room.
The girl continued to scream while, consistent with all-female, was trying to replace the door.
"Galanti Diego, right?" Sensi said. "It was, of course."
The guy took a step back. "What is inside? "he stammered, frightened.
"We look after. A gift from when I was a Satanist. I do not think I would have chosen if they had been able to infiltrate the year. "Her lips were folded into a sarcastic smile, but his shadow was the most interesting part. It seemed like it was slightly enlarged and it was steaming.
"Christ. What are you? "Screamed the dead. "You're too old for your shell!"
"Yeah, but I bring good. However I do not seek the mote in others when I have a beam in mine. Not to sound obvious, but you're dead. "
" It's not my fault, "defended himself Galanti Diego.
"will be missed. But the four guys spent the last month ... those are your fault, I guess. "
The other seemed to take a little 'courage.
"I have killed! As they went to hell, get drunk! "Sensi
shook his head. "Unseemly, I agree."
"They did not even stop!"
"Probably not if they are even noticed."
The girl continued to scream, but the door was now almost back in place. He had a future in carpentry, he thought Sensi.
'Well, now it is gone anyway, right? What can you do to me? I want to stop? "
The shadow of the Senses is a bit stretched 'to the dead man, making out a cry.
"Better not to know, what can I ask you," he said.
"Now I killed them!" Yelled another.
"As if traffic was not already a shit on his own in these parts. I think it's a good time to distance themselves, if you know what I mean. "
He seemed caught off guard. "Distance themselves?"
"Yes, you know? The one thing they do the dead, die. "
Diego lowered his head. "But Greta ..." he muttered.
"He has already made clear that an alibi," pointed out the Commissioner.
"I meant ..."
"I know what you mean."
remained silent for a minute. The shadow of the Commissioner was burning on the floor, the dead man is staring at his feet.
"Diego?" Called the girl that she was hysterical the past when they had managed to reassemble the door.
He looked at her sideways.
"Diego, you have to go?"
"I ..." he said.
'Yes,' said Sensi. "It's time." His shadow stretched back toward the dead man, with a flick animal, how to seize. Diego literally ran vertically rising toward the ceiling like a rocket.
"I guess it was from that part of the idea that there is paradise," said the other, shrugging his shoulders.
His shadow is completely retired, returning to be that cold and lean boy dressed as a Gothic seemed.
"Not so," asked the girl, a bit 'worried.
"I do not know. It is not my field. You know, I would take a beer now, "he added.
"Not in service?"
He avoided explaining that he had never worried about such details. "Not anymore," he said.

*** Something was

out of the roof. Like a flash the other hand, like a stray bullet.
The Commissioner, however, was not released.
Sasha, motionless in the rain, waited for a while, 'to see what was happening.
He had seen the light come on in the other room, and that was all.
was clear that his new boss was a man with erratic mood, she did not love the rush, apparently still in the rainy city where nothing ever happened, but maybe it was not. Maybe running away, and something was chasing him.
He left long before he came out.
Exactly a fortnight later on his desk was a letter of transfer.
Rome, the center of everything.
was promoted inspector, a sign that perhaps Salvemini was not the only one that can accelerate careers.
Sasha did not want to know what the rodesse. He did not want to understand more.
He would never admit, but he felt no desire to see even his shadow slim stretch in the wet.
Who saw her pack, quickly, hurriedly, he would have thought that he was fleeing.
would not have been wrong.



In real life is a clinical psychologist. In its existence also wrote and directed the independent series "Inside" (Cut-Up Comics), won the Lucca Project Contest 2005 along with Armando Rossi Ford Ravenstock - specialist in suicide "(Panini) and has participated in several anthologies of short stories.
at this time is continuing to write for another publisher Ravenstock (Arcadia), has just finished "The Chronicles of Octopus" (Rebus) and is scripted by a comic book editions Casterman.

Pro Start Replacement

The sirens are screaming and the fires burned down in the valley tonight.
There's a man in the shadows with a gun in his eyes and a knife in his hands.
Scintilla.
There is evil in the air and thunder in the sky and a bloodstained road to walk on a murderess.
and down, in the tunnel where dead things are springing up, I swear I saw a boy lying in a puddle of water, boil and skim.
Girls, you are correct and the only thing that has remained good and pure in this world, and wherever you are and wherever you go, there's always light.
But I have to leave now, before the dawn.
So make the most of this night. When it's over just because we both like a bat out of hell, I will go away when you get the morning.
me it again the next day and the sun is down and the moonlight shines high in the sky, like a sinner before the gates of heaven, I will return crawling on you.
will hit the highway like a battering ram riding a motorcycle, ghost, black and silver, and will come to you. It does not grow anything in this rotting old hole and everything is battered and lost.
And you is not gonna rock and nothing can ever rolleggia and its price.
And I know that I'll be damned if you do not go out and maybe I will be the same even if I do, but with every beat I've got left in my heart, you know I'd rather be damned dancing together with you all night.
torn in half the road, faster than any boy has ever gone.
My skin is raw but my soul is cooked to perfection and no one can stop me now.
I complete my escape but I can not stop thinking about you.
And I see the curve until it is too late.
And then I curled up on the bottom of a ditch, twisted and passed back to the foot of a ghost bike, black and silver, which burns.

I hear a resounding thunder and then rain.
He arrived like a hurricane and its lightning ripped through my sky. I'm still young but I am going to die because he takes no prisoners and do not save lives. No one can fight against him because he has with him his bell and lead me to hell.
He will get me.
Something bad I walk along the spine as I watch its sparkling light that tears the night. If the well is left, of course he takes on the right.
Now I understand: These are the bells of hell and Satan is coming for me.
He is the wolf in the night, he is the blood that accumulates on the ground, he's the tear in your eye, the knife in my back, he is anger, he is the razor blade.
now My head spins, but now that I'm off I must be strong and shout at the devil.

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, as in heaven so on earth. Give us this day our daily bread, And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive our debtors And lead us not into temptation, but leads in Paradise City where the grass is green and the girls so cute!
murmured a amen and then die.



Roberto Recchioni
writes.
too. When
pulls her ass, drawing as well.
Evil.

Milena Velba And Merilyn

Mrs. Luciana running since she was a child. Not at a competitive level and very rarely if someone was watching her. In a walk around qualify as calm: he stopped to look stupid every step and moved with cat-sated cream. He was also known for his carelessness, and it was terribly, terribly faded. The type of woman who over the years Fifty would go around in a convertible with a pink handkerchief around his head and sunglasses rimmed with enormous white plastic. That is if the life of Mrs. Luciana was more like a film, because in reality the license Mrs. Luciana had never taken. He had also never married, and this seemed strange to all, was the kind of woman who seemed born for you to bake chocolate cakes and children. She had wide hips and calves turned, and the kind of smile that makes you want to snuggle under a blanket outside as well when there are forty degrees in the shade. Mrs. Luciana He made forty-three years this month. She looked about thirty, had almost no wrinkles and his complexion was extraordinarily pink.
The first time Mrs. Luciana had begun to run was twelve years old. Two days before her mother died of cancer, after having poisoned the lives of his family for a period that seemed endless at all. Luciana for her mother's death had been a pain relief together. In the midst of these drapes blacks, close to crying and funeral atmosphere that reigned in the house she had felt like climbing into a euphoria, a tickle, an irrepressible desire to get as inappropriate dancing and jumping for joy.
His family lived in a large stone farmhouse on the back of which lay a huge field of wheat. Tiny, in her black dress and in his patent-leather shoes to match, Luciana had gone out and had started running between the ears. He started walking, then everything she had in fact looking forward, arms, legs, hands, feet, every cell of his being wanted to speed up, feeling the contours blur, losing definition, run, for God's sake, run. The ears of the revolt against the dress tearing, scratching every inch of exposed skin. It did not matter. Luciana ran, only this amount. He ran and laughed in the face of death, fear, everything. At one point she started screaming, and to the other end of the field were racing and one single scream, liberating, furious, beautiful.
Fortune had wished that his gesture was interpreted as a manifestation of pain.
Feverish and exhausted, had brought home in a backpack and receiving immediately put to bed. Alone in the silence of his room, Luciana had witnessed with apprehension at the birth of their first decent moral conflict in his life. The relief of pain was stronger, more overbearing Apollo Dionysus, the feeling of joy that he felt much more powerful than any other negative emotion. Luciana for the duration of the night she felt uncomfortable, inconvenient, incorrect. Then at dawn he had thought, but who cares. And he did the only sensible thing a human can do in such situations: he had dug his own way out.
Since then he had not stopped running. Each time the emotion overwhelmed, feeling inadequate, that what the shaking was in too bad of the largest film that ran around, she put a pair of comfortable shoes and ran. It ran smoothly and accelerates with gusto, measured in a crescendo to the point where he could not help herself and let herself go completely. And he ran, christ of a god if he ran. He ran that was stronger and faster than anything. He ran to beat the devil.



Micol Beltramini has bad press in the sense that we can enjoy a casino to resent. He has a collection of stories scurrilous and bargained with Newton & Compton published two more books this year. So, in fact, is the writer. But do not tell it too loud. It is superstitious.

Grandma Get Well Poem

In this landfill can be said to have an illustrious guest.
I was the motion of Jeffrey Philip Wielandt.
The Metal Chopper # 1 Zakk Wylde.
not say anything, please. Listen to my story first.
view of the fact as they are tanned, I do not feel privileged. Because if I had possessed someone else surely would not be here. Make-up

Zakk! -
-Hush and enjoy! -
-But you're hurting me so! - Zakk
That shit is not even got rid of me when fucking.
I think he did more on my saddle in his bed.
Even at the cost of staying in the garage! It fell
pants, his wife was bending in and gave us bad.

-I is coming out of the blood! Stop! -
-But do you know what the hell's the matter? You never complained about that! - Zakk
-stop! -
And to say that the location was too uncomfortable. When Barbaranne clung on handlebars not only in danger of breaking things, but also entered the odometer in the sternum.
But his problem was not just that.
-You do not like if I push so fast? -
-Yes, but christ, I can not pierce the gut! Watch the blood! Menstruation I finished last week. Where hast done something, I'll kill you this time really, Zakk! - The
tipina Barbaranne named Catherine. It was a beautiful woman. Tall, blonde and infinitely Tamarra. We got together when they were 16 years and there were no more left. It was the only woman that I liked to carry around.
seemed born to be with his legs apart.

But Zakk was not a sample fidelity. Zakk
-Oh! I would never have imagined! -
-It 's great eh? They tell me this all-
-Come here, little cousin sfondami! -
few years ago my aunt died, who lived in Oregon. And we went there for the funeral. While the coffee was
Barbaranne, to 820 miles away, he was in Portland to fuck his cousin. The daughter of Aunt Mary Lou, one dead.
-Push! Push harder!! -
-What a bitch you are, Jessy! -
-Si, fast! Go! -
was so sorry for her, and she wept over her face at the end of Jessy all her pain. From the way I speak
seem jealous, right?
Yes, maybe I was a little bit him. And maybe still are.
But let us be frank. Another man like that, where is it?
After a while 'time also began to believe that it was not his wife or girlfriends to do so exciting, but I.
If he is in love with himself and I am the product of his mind, then love for me is easily understood.
He designed me and I ejaculated as I was his daughter.
I drew all night giving me a form, a soul and a body.
what I wanted.
On December 1, 2004 came to pick me up.
When I saw the first time, I'm sure who has excited.
He looked down, he kicked his heels and blushed. How to do when you
shame.
Then he touched. He caressed my whole body.
He stuck his fingers in every corner, has followed my bullseyes, my skull, my crosses. His eyes have licked my paint.
Then he looked at the mechanic and told him to go away.
It is placed with its tough on my ass saddle. He positioned his feet and grabbed the handlebars. Everything matched. As if you were born to be beneath him.
His hands were large. Rough and sweaty.
and I put the key on.
Then he turned the throttle and laughed.
We left for our first trip.
From Los Angeles to Monterey Bay. Following the first river, the coast.
The street was deserted. There was no one to interrupt our lovemaking.
So I jumped in my face all my power.
I sacrificed him for a rattlesnake.
I did enjoy.
I Zakk inside me.
I was his creature, his mistress, his lady.
Then he started to cry. A scream
disarming exploded from the depths of his genius.
never ended, it seemed forever. Generated by a state of being seen or dreamed of. Bestial.

We returned home three days later.
-What happened to you, you asshole? You have left to take the bike and then?
Could you tell me! -
His wife would call the police if it had not come home by midnight.

To avoid having to worry about his family, staying out too many days, I decided to devote one day per week.
left from Los Angeles without knowing the destination.
I take him for a walk like my trophy. I was so proud of him! I could hear him above me, it shuddered. The muscles of his legs were twitching at every roar of the engine. And I gave him what he wanted.
alone, he and I, united in a single vice, we kissed passionately tight, moaned and screamed together.
I was between her legs and I knew it happy.
How I would love to be a woman just to make us love.
But I know that I would not so satisfied.

sex, however, never let go.
When we went away, detached from the daily obligations and return to being a teenager. He drank beer and cascades of fucked like a bull. Only women, mind you, but if men were not certainly would have noticed. A
Friday came to Palm Springs. A small town
forty thousand inhabitants to the desert.
Zakk There were two friends who did not disdain.
As soon as we pulled up under their balcony Molly and Laura recognized the sound of my engine, and ran down. A salute.
-salts! Or would you prefer the alley behind? - Zakk smiled
-Hop in the saddle that you think I-
We went behind the alley.
Molly was a beautiful white woman. Low, lean and very nasty. Laura, however, was black. When bent, the muscles of the legs became the basis for launching rockets. A few seconds and you were in orbit.
But it was more timid and often preferred to watch.
That night, however, participated.

In anticipation of the arrival of man had a tank top and miniskirt.
To make your work less tiring. A
sat on the tank and the other on the saddle. Zakk
peaked at the center. They started kissing. His hands were six and moved like tentacles.
While they were immersed in the jungle, a pick-up stopped at the entrance of the road. Pointing the headlights on.
-son of a bitch! Here's where you go. Filthy disgusting! -
was Barbaranne. He got out of his pickup and began to slam the lids of bins. Zakk turned toward her, put his hands in his face and yelled to stop. In a panic, not even went back inside the bird.
When she calmed down, ran to her trying to sketch some excuse. I could not hear what he said, but it certainly failed.
The two women, meanwhile, were chuckling.
lowered her skirt and got home.
Molly looked out the window to enjoy the show. Laura no.

That night I stayed and Zakk Americas Best Value Inn.
The usual sleazy motel for couples.
The next day we took the road to home.
But it was not one of our trips.
My man was crying.
For the first time he had worn a helmet. I could hear her sobs. I imagined her hair wet with tears.
Do not touch me like before. His hand had become hard and violent.
His body was rigid. Not screaming, not trembling, did not enjoy.
The road was no longer our marriage bed.
had become a snake of asphalt and nothing more.
And I, I had become a means of transport as many.
A chopper. A pearl that you buy at the Harley dealer and held for months in the garage. A gathering dust. Until one day, the guilt does not push to hunt. The
you get some 'air, it goes around the neighborhood and back to the place.
Here, I felt that way.
And I took only a few miles to realize this.

back home not even put me back in the box. I went out, I accavallettò and ran inside. I was under the veranda, in an ideal position to hear the screams.
The children, fortunately, were in school.
heard the voice of Barbaranne. I did not understand what he was saying, but his words were to be of stone blocks. The threw out loud, slowly, lapidary.
And then silence.

-Okay, I do. I do it because I love you! - Zakk
left the door directly to the sidewalk.
grabbed the stick that the stop was in front of the garden. Expelled him from the asphalt and showed it to his wife. This
-okay? -
crying.
She nodded, without saying a word. He came next to me.
He looked at me. He bent down and kissed me on my saddle.
-This is for you, Barbara. Because I love you and our family-
seized the bar with both hands.
stiffened muscles and hit me.
The first time I broke the lamp. The second shot
bent the handlebars.
The third shot was a desperate cry. Resting his head on the odometer begged my pardon. Tears streaming down my steel and bent his fist a fork.
Her hair slid over me.
I was injured but still alive. My dedication was not demolished by a couple of sticks. It was not enough so little.

-Well, so show me your love, Zakk? -
-Please, a minute ..-
Zakk pulled himself up on his legs.
Slowly he went behind the house and disappeared for a few minutes. When he reappeared in his hand a tank.
I sprinkled petrol and set fire to me.
I burned slowly. It took me about 4 hours to collapse.
The smell of my skin, my paint and my metal remained in the air all day.
When I finally was harmless Barbaranne loaded on the pick up and deposited here. The landfill.
When he left, Zakk had stopped crying. Did not turn to look, or to give me a last farewell. But I am sure that every time he sings "The Last Goodbye, I think.



Sara Ciambotti. 23.
Vive L'Aquila, where he studied at the Faculty of Humanities, course of study in Image and Communication.
She loves writing and reading. Whatever, if they're well made.
She also loves to travel. This is his blog