Monica Roccaforte Vikipedi

Talpa

I went into the woods. We are. The first lends me purple plaid shorts and blue and white, are wide at the waist and pull on the ass. I unsuitable shoes, feet from the outside.
We only come if you take me, I told him to Den.
It's not an excuse to be alone with him. It happened many years ago, we were alone. Me and him. We put white hair.
lovers think that at some point You are my friend, I say. Especially . I feel a certain discomfort. Yet as a concept is honest. Are also few. Friends, I mean. Two women, two, those with whom I sleep score, a man who loves a man and a boy who has, I do not know, a certain inexplicable dose of respect. But to be honest, I friendship between males and females do not.
I do not want wood, then. I do not want to know that new car, or my skinned, dusty and hot, I do not want thorns between the toes, land digested by moles, and footsteps in the mud, I do not want bread, ham and smoked cheese, I do not feel fresh, mint and humidity, I have no desire not to want, and then Yes, yes, there are (in the woods)!

We're in two cars. First, Blondie, the Small and Milord in its large and high, with some wheels. Me and Den in the small and conditioning.
Come on!? ... Takes Radio Maria in the woods!, I say. Wherever it takes! Den says. They pray at the sound of a tune that comes into his head over waka waka. Sing it.
A path out of asphalt. My Lord gives us to eat dust.
Den pull the handbrake, the car does a little pirouette and conditioned on the gravel clear. Terra chips and white tick tick tick on the sheet. Oooh! I say. What?, He says.
Ride.
leave your car. On foot. The first track uphill. The leather ball slams risbatte strong trunks, rushes down through the trees. Continuously. Milord screams and throws himself to retrieve it. Peaches knows that red juice fruit. Bananas ailments. A whole bunch of bananas ailments. The cool of the trees. A walk, what a beautiful fresh. Twenty steps backward at all, we chat and I my Lord, what to eat and what not to get tough thighs and belly dry. The bread on the table you have to forget you!, He said. But I like a lot ... I tell him.
Let's go here! She beckons, Den, with his hand. We leave the trail.
pile of dark earth everywhere, thin, dry and clean. One after another, in order. What is this? I ask. Den nestles, we slipped a hand inside. It is the ground dug by moles. Look!, See how that ... he says.
Then at some point, a clearing. Everyone gets where he wants but we are all neighbors. Water, water, and a sandwich with slices of bread crust real high, which at first bite jaw snaps. I sit on a log not so often, is seven centimeters in diameter. Den, lying on the floor behind me fianc'a, it moves in the ass. Hits, pushes. The spikes scratching. Come on ... I tell him. What do you do? He says.
Ride.

Don Don dan cowbells from afar. Younger people always throw kicks, slams the ball bounces risbatte crack between logs as strong as adamant defenders of this door that ends up in the sky. Don, don, dan! Cows should be.

Milord dig the melon with a knife polished steel polished, he method takes away the seeds, offers it. It has to stop! he says. It is sweet, it's gone, you know Rio Casamia fruit, no alcohol!
Den shrugged off the ground without help with the hands, eats three pieces. From time to time moves the trunk that makes me a seat, distracted, probe the seizure of my ass.
... Come on!
is? Don
dan cows, closer and closer. Ohhh!, There is a percussion solo for you!, Screaming at the Small First.
Soccia but bleat!, Biondo ago. They're not cows!
In half a minute the flock of goats and white goats c'ingloba dark, Den pulls out from under my ass to the stick, it hurts, the challenges, it is his. Has been done seriously. Milord recovers the ball at the feet of the kids, and there, a meter, those angry dogs. As if it were nothing. The Small, Blondie, the First, still silent on the dry stone wall, broken and useless without the ball between your feet, sit in order of height ed'inquietudine.
turned his back on a strong and continuous beee quell'abbaiare and harmless, but we can not be sure, and we take the trouble.
The path the size of a road just up there and you do not know where it leads. Den beats the bat on the ground, overbearing, articulate the steps. Oh, listen to this? She takes his hand from the back, and pop it between my sternum and the left nipple, the heart beats Stum tum, skin pulsates, vibrates, even T-shirt, you see. So much!
tells me so much!, I say.

The balloon is pierced. The three young men they pretend not. You always lose. The three did not instruct it. Milord cries every ten steps, warn others and encourages himself, then runs to retrieve the ball in the ravine between thorns and broken branches, with foot brake, and stronger than those who never makes up more than you can chew. The ball is laundry! Says. But no ... it will be deflated!, The three young men in choir.
the parked cars appear on the ridge opposite to where I expected them.
I never know where I am! I say.
happens in the woods if you're not used to it!, Milord said.
Even in the city, it happens. I say.
Pure water is over. Back in the town. Milord
recovers First, the Blonde and Little, like the coach, if they load in the car. Den me recover. The

keep the right wrist every time that happens. While changing the gear, while off Radio Maria, while adjusting the air conditioning and if thrown in the face. Something in between feel the beat and measure for a new bracelet. Control the hollow of his arm nerves and smooth. Where it bends.
my Lord, let us know we are lost. But we went ahead? She asks. Perhaps, I say, but I've got that chance. The way cool, dense woods, the light elsewhere. Stop here! "I tell him. Not notice us playing. And
Yes it is! If you notice it.
Scavo his finger between the tendons of his arm. If it is below, in part, without meaning to. They will think that we have drilled, will return to look for ... he says.
laugh.

out of the woods feels the heat. The car, the road, and across the sea. Still, painting, and odorless. Asphalt hot, flickering cars, trees, split those trunks, bushes and rolling, stone walls, earth and air, as if they had thrown gasoline on all sides, even in heaven.
Den speaks little. But more than usual. I speak, as always.
a crossroads, sleep, and before us, to infinity and beyond, this river of cars. Sott'al sun. There are mica pass. We remain polite and firm. Almost expected a gap and someone to hold hands, pray, pray ...
Den overheated curling eyes behind dark glasses.
I get distracted.

Play with your fingers. With my own, and even with his. The circle, move the joint, put them in order, as if they were colored pencils and I had to choose exactly the shade I need. Approach the face, mouth, tongue, taste, swallow whole everything, to scratch the throat, is good! Sudi salt and lemon, I tell him. Sudo powder chewed the mole, he said.