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They'd laugh when they saw that little boy, for whom every excuse was an opportunity to chomp down on something—when after all "chomp" wasn't really the verb, because Tommaso liked everything that was soft, everything he could gulp down without chewing.

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He didn't mind playing the neighborhood fool; he'd intentionally act walter siti troppi paradisi, jumping up and down on his bike so that people would tell him that you could make a hot air balloon out of his trousers.

He gulped and swallowed until he was full to bursting, and walter siti troppi paradisi when he really couldn't cram another bite into his belly did he feel free it was an illusion, possibly the most dangerous one at the dawn of life; what was actually in charge wasn't fullness but emptiness: At age two, the way his aunt tells it, he ate the moss and blossoms of the gardens—so whipped cream and gelato were already a step forward.

Not being able to survive with an empty stomach meant never giving hunger a chance, never waiting to eat; even at night he kept a pastry under his pillow.

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Sweets were his trenchwork, the partition wall that separated him from the world; there the laughter and the cruel jokes couldn't follow him, there he saw no one but a hero building up his strength to vault past all limitations—just what those limitations might be he couldn't have said, he was only walter siti troppi paradisi years old; but certainly somewhere out there stretched the lands of plenty, of innocence, of public glory and unconditional love.

In church he'd been taught that even just overeating was a sin, a sin of greed and pride; the saints shared their chunk of bread with the walter siti troppi paradisi.

That was life, shared life. The ceremony of stuffing himself was another matter, to be celebrated in solitude; a six-egg omelette, smeared with stracchino cheese and strawberry jam "I'll bury the sin deep inside me".


His belly is rumbling like thunder in the sky, Tommaso is a gigantic god at the dawn of the world. Only once, when they were exploring the park of Cecafumo and were trying to inspect the ruins there, Tommaso was reluctant to venture into an especially tight passageway; he just couldn't fit through it, but in opposition to Nando who was egging him on "come on, anyone walter siti troppi paradisi get through here" he came up with a fitting retort "hey precious, I'm hardly just anyone".

Nando is loaded with self-confidence like a cannoli, faith in himself and in his fellow man: Tommaso on the other hand is the king of twisted walter siti troppi paradisi He'd peek down the blouses of the housewives coming home from the market loaded down with shopping bags, even the ugly ones, but Nando just had a good laugh and forgot about it walter siti troppi paradisi.

They'd become inseparable, a comical sight, one short and skinny, the other the size of a baby whale, like Laurel and Hardy; but it wasn't good for your health to laugh too loud because the pair of them could easily convert into a formidable military assault team.

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When Nando lost it, and he was always on a hair trigger, he'd come at you before you knew what was happening, and the one thing you didn't want to do was wind up on your back—because then that other one would lie down on you and getting up was fucking impossible.

They give up their walter siti troppi paradisi, it's true, but then they glare at me as if they wished they could cut my throat"—his father'd bang his fast down on the table: Tommaso remembers the owner of half of Pigneto who'd left his limousine parked downstairs with the chauffeur at the wheel, and a priest without a tunic but with the white collar talking intently with the chief of the gypsies of Maranella.

After these meetings his father would sit there, mute and focused: When he passed his first year in middle school and was promoted to the next class, they'd given him a computer; then and there it had walter siti troppi paradisi a disappointment because by then everyone had a Commodore 64 and they'd stuck him with an MSX computer, a less powerful Japanese standard, so he couldn't trade games with his classmates.

Over time, though, it turned out to be a piece of luck: Glass and steel offices with dozens walter siti troppi paradisi computers, on the top floors overlooking all of Rome.

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Mamma would come home dragging her feet "we'll make ends meet, tadpole"by the time they got to the twentieth of the month she'd squint as she reviewed her accounts before venturing out to do the shopping at the market, this was far more serious than the practical lessons of the student mart, her paycheck never seemed to come in the mail "I'm about to grow gills" ; walter siti troppi paradisi she'd give him his walter siti troppi paradisi little budget at the start of the week and he was expected to take care of his own lunch.

Tommy would scrape together a little extra cash by doing some math classwork for the two class imbeciles with fathers at the ministry, but his new responsibilities only worsened his eating disorder: He ate because he was bored in the afternoons Nando worked as a waiter in a gambling den and boredom doesn't deserve anything expensive: Sometimes he'd sink so low that he just tossed into the trash a little tomato sauce and a few half-rotten green leaves he'd picked up on the way walter siti troppi paradisi, so his mother would think he'd eaten spaghetti and salad.

More often, he'd scatter the guilty walter siti troppi paradisi around the apartment, the plastic wrap from the ice cream and the cartons the hot pockets came in, to see walter siti troppi paradisi his mother would at least scream at him; but she was so exhausted she never even noticed, by now she had already become accustomed to the idea that her son was a monster.

TV shows are the same and reaction too are the same.


We are educated but unemployed because the country did fall short from what it is the contemporary pulse or the zeitgeist to use an imprecise word. Walter siti troppi paradisi are going to look like American Society without being American and that could be a problem Views.

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