Yes mom I'll be back / you prepared your meal? / Yes, I'm on the bus now, but there 'is a casino / Excuse / Be careful! / my foot! / hey / young man, let me / get off / fast, we get to this / but look at what kind of hat / a very long neck / salt! / hey!
Chaos.
On the bus-line S-chaos: rush hour, bags spending, students, briefcases, papers and notes, cards slide out of the pockets, the hands, is also hot, sweaty people, rotten people, stink, smell of the sandwiches that a girl is eating-a sports bag at his feet, one hand hanging to handle, suit, apparently coming back from the gym. "
An old man sitting, newspaper in hand, looks around a bit 'annoyed by all this confusion.
A guy jumps on the bus, in a hurry.
insinuates itself between the people-looking-in vain for a place to sit. Dodge a basket full of vegetables, the affliction on the left side beating a backpack filled with books, wandered to the hard-line S-bus, rush hour, realizing that the place is not there. But still hope, still only a hope: that old, there seems to be preparing to go down. "
He runs, pushing a hand to hold the hat-strange hat, a long ribbon that looks like a cord to decorate it, unusual color, material particular, perched atop a head that seems to be moved from the top of an infinite-length neck, the other already stretched to the place, ready to pounce on, sit down, ah, rest.
It stops, turns around, annoyed
Excuse know
man to his right, formal coat, briefcase serious hat on top of a trivially ordered and well-coiffed head firmly on a bull neck.
what he wants
she hit me
please?
she-me-ha-bumped, voluntarily, I would add, and hit me in the side
you're wrong
no, I've seen: I have seen it coming, stepped back with
pretend distracted,
are past me and just stuck an elbow in the ribs!
Look, sir, maybe she is confused
No, my dear! I've just kicked your a fucking
elbow between the ribs.
Listen, friend, give me a reason why should I place on a bus
to carry out attacks in the ribs of kids jostle to find a place, and
No, you listen to "friend" : me hurt, you hurt me
Have at least the good grace to apologize!
But not!
She is a peasant,
I apologize immediately!
Listen: you now shut up, shut your mouth, the tears of a roaring, all right?
Or I'll take your neck tie to the frighteningly long and well at that
Lamp there, right?
The bus slows. The old man gets up slowly, his paper arm, hat-cordless-tweed jacket and heavy-rimmed glasses.
The chaos in the bus stops. Nobody moves or speaks. Silence.
He looks peaceful stung by a splash of fun hidden in the wisdom of the eyes. She watched the exchange of views of the two, a world spassandosela. Perhaps more than the debate made him laugh the boy-a strange hybrid of man and giraffe with a strange hat perched on his head. "
The world is frozen. Immobility.
Silence, more silence than before. The time has stopped. The old man smiles.
is the space between people, with the usual peaceful calm. Now go down, leaning on the door of the bus. You look around-the 'party bus, and on board all wake up, a second and nothing happened, the bus never stopped, chaos, confusion, high voice, all voices speak of a single voice, all noises roar, screaming, calling, phones trill, the chaos-and it will go in search of a park bench-only seeks peace. " Can not find, will move toward home-right through the intersection, turn left and after a hundred meters is there-and will stay in the living room sofa in her, or perhaps on the terrace-quarter floor without a lift, but now the habit has stood the old, worn out joints are not afraid of the stairs, a small but lovely terrace, green watering can next to the door, a five pots with plants and flowers to decorate the corners, wicker chair holiday home / cushion white reigns in the middle of the balcony. "
falls, free place.
soon thawed by the time the young leave the discussion without adding another word and you run down, leaving the man told him-that screaming, actually, but it's okay -, forgetting the discussion, and after a moment he sat, finally sat down and save dall'energumeno that threatened to wring his neck.
rested his head on the window and puts the iPod headphones. Tiredness.
been two hours. The old man returns from the park, walking home, the usual calm yet to wrap, to accompany a couple of hours at the park. The paper is folded under his arm, for the crumpled impetus with which his reader turning the pages, and imbufalito angry politicians and a world that does not turn as he says.
Cross the road and sees to smear the young-un boy-almost always a long neck, his hat always staggering. It is with a friend, especially himself, a silk scarf around his neck-psychedelic-decorated jacket, pink and bottle green trousers that go to hide the leg of shiny riding boots. Bareheaded. Neck normal.
But yes, you have to connect it better, look at 'what a mess ...
But where?
But look!
But what?
But the button, you fool!
But why?
E 'wrong, man! You straighten it, watch it,
so - ah, my friend. You and fashion does not have anything to do.
**********
This post was created for a task assigned to the French school. My class is participating in a competition organized by the Alliance Française Australie where you have to write a text like "prolongement [of" Exercises in Style ] à la manière de Raymond Queneau. "My year is-this would be a" chaos "- then I had to translate into French, but the first not to understand no reading I have translated, so the site.
Here, the note was just to say that I have not copied from someone if not myself, since there is half of the competition and so on.
In any case, this seems to me an interesting competition, hence the site of the Alliance Francaise http://www.alliancefr.it
and somewhere also speak of the competition.
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