I apologize for everything I've written about cockroaches. How we felt big and strong to play with death. To do the men. To kill you ... but heck, a cockroach in the two is one thing, I go down last night from home and one alone is cutting the throat of an ox in two for us ... a cockroach ... ec'abbiamo put a quarter of an hour. Sorry. Tomorrow I will try to kill the ox. Marriage. Today. Yesterday closed a stretch of road, 7 rue, I see a mountain of tents and ox in the street ... weird ... even for me who do not know anything about animals I see a difference between the goat licks the salt from the wall in my house, and as tall as an ox to me that there can be just medina. In fact, an hour after the slaughter ... I told you so that there could nn ... be returned by Samba to drop me a little 'pills of wisdom. I ask him if it's tradition. Look in the distance the dark silhouette of a rastone with a cigarette in mouth, with machetes splitting the chest of the bull snorts .... NO. Categorical answers. It is tradition. And exhibitions. You complicate simple things. It would be like burning a cockroach with the flamethrower instead of going to buy there (and indicate the shop in front of the house) the megadistruggitutto-napalm-spray. I cough and whistle indifferent, I'm leaving, and I understand a bit rastone with his cigarette and his machete ...
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