Mother, a small room will be enough. A kitchen and a small room with the bright light from the garden. A veranda. The kitchen and a veranda. I'm tired of dark corridors. The pain in my hands will disappear and...
   A dirty story of true jazz January 6th, 1987. I remember the date very well. What I need is just to forget it! On that bloody night I nearly ran the risk (oh, me the fibber!) of going to please...
  I came home in the evening, while long shadows were extending between the buildings, bridging at dusk. I crossed the main street and slipped into the narrow alleyway, unraveling among many crossroads, leading in front of my house. I...
  He could see himself as a child sitting on a rock beside the fire while his mother, her veil lifted and her nails black from soil, kneaded bread telling him the story of the kilim. «I was your age,...

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Valerio Evangelisti – We Shall be All

  A past without clean slate Thirty years of American syndicalism seen through the eyes of Eddie Florio, a man for sale, with neither scruples or...