21 Weeks Pregnant Black Stool

Go' Follow your turbocharged ...

It 's always nice to know Italy from a train window ... Maybe on a secondary line, as advised in a monologue the great Marco Paolini.
then I present this short text, written directly on the road ...

'E' in low dawn Verona.
The blue sky and bright, warm light, the Venetian foothills that frame these endless stretches of land.
Railway secondary "iron 50" , the smell of oil, smoke, oil stains scattered on the sleepers. In curves, missed the "todescaden" wheel jumping on the juncture of the rails.
"Biiiip - Psss, blocking ports.
Al block go "shouts the CT, sleepy, back in the cabin.
" Pssss - TSSS "precise, as a sniper's rifle, the solenoid shifter and clutch.
He gets up in the choir singing of the two 14-liter Fiat decided, bad, like a rugby team before the World Cup final.
The Turbocharger starts screaming and the needle of the rev counter seems to be unstoppable.
You gain speed quickly, in an orgy of smoke, sound and sprint.
The landscape slips away quickly from the window while I dream of being there at the bench to lead this amazing band called 668. "

Baschirotto Fabio

Stabbing Pain In Wrist And Thumb

On rail cars travel stories of all day and special stories. Sometimes travelers are living, sometimes listen and sometimes talk about. I'll tell you this ...

"I'm sitting for several hours on a train. Around me, out the window, stand the beautiful Alps, first ready embrace of snow, which will come to them a few weeks.
David Gahn in my ears singing "Enjoy the Silence" and I remember the video where the singer of Depeche Mode, dressed as a king, through snow-capped mountains and enchanting beaches. I feel a bit like him ... I'm also places through breathtaking, beautiful, never seen before and are loaded like a king on the day of his coronation. They are beautiful places, really, but pretty damn far from my placid Tuscany.
Why am I here? For a girl. Trivial? Maybe. Indeed, for sure! Come on, do not make easy ironies about this trip (the person who thought "Throw a more ..." can also stop reading): she is simply gorgeous. It 'beautiful, intelligent and hours by train to go to her that I am more than justified. The emotional and irrational side of me took over and made me capable of a "crazy" like that.
There's not much to get there.
Throughout the trip, I wondered if I really am the protagonist of this story, but the flight of the landscape behind the window always told me so, on this train that goes north I am here and I'm really enjoying the spectacle of the SBB trains that I've always particularly liked, all colors, all different. How beautiful!
Soon I will have to leave this snake metal (read "ETR470"), Basel is ever closer and soon will be reached.
How fast troublesome birds, a flock of dark thoughts through my mind: what if it was all a joke, a joke? If this girl had deceived me great, if not of the town? If you do not show up at the station and I only remain as an idiot in a foreign country for three days, spending, among other things, a Fracture of money. After all women are always talking about, eh, not of rational creatures! This could be the "parcel" most sensational of all time. Damn, nasty thoughts. All this makes me speed up the heartbeat, accelerated its already pretty.
The train has stopped.
There are at Basel SBB. I get out of my Cisalpino, send a message to "she", I say where I am. It's cold in Basel, raining and windy, as if to emphasize that the +34 C yesterday, my home, I am really distant. And in fact are 675km to the south ... so many.
messages sent and does not reach anyone. The
flock of ugly thoughts, made a tight turn and go back to fill my brain. I'm cold and the Corinth-heads in my sweatshirt Napapijri while train traffic behind me proceed regardless of everything and everyone. I look around, searching for something familiar or comforting, but at least there is nothing: just clouds in the sky and austere buildings typical "crutch."
a sudden I hear someone running toward me, walk fast and light so I was hoping to hear ... I turn and I am overwhelmed by the warm embrace of a sweet blonde girl ... she is, she really was not a joke, she's really in my arms and now our hearts sing a symphony of beats, wild and beautiful, accompanied by the rattle of piping and announcements in German. The cold will disappear in an instant, the trains depart and discrete gray clouds suddenly appear less dark and gloomy ...

(omissions)

... together the last hours are long but it is increasingly tinged with sadness. I already know what happens: my train to come back home like a sentence without appeal a sentence for two condemned men.
E 'perhaps the first time in my life that a train station I generates a sense of repulsion. A train, the means of locomotion I've always loved from the cradle, is the perfect time to disintegrate. I feel almost as a betrayal. Bastard, you do not have a heart, you? Useless, and even if I had, it would be as cold as the metal you're made of.
The train to Milan arrives fast, slows down and stops screeching ... unfortunately. Opens the door ready to swallow me and all my recent memories. I throw up the suitcases, but I risk down because I can not give a last, long kiss. The people look at us, someone seems to sense and perhaps a little 'gets excited, others shake their heads. Yeah, it's the climax of a few million sentimental film. A whistle clear and categorical: The conductor is that decreed the end of everything. Here we go. I gotta go. I get on. I look at it from the vestibule with his hair, sad and without a shred of lucidity. I "ciaociao" with his hand while the train goes slowly. I follow his eyes as long as I can. Goodbye my doll.
120 seconds, and realize what happened to me over the last three days and what is happening. All the beautiful things that until recently were "present" in my head now being renamed with the word "past."
Shooting a deep breath and breath in a drowning child, but an irrepressible desire to cry. In a moment the world crumbles: I no longer see the other passengers, I no longer see the SBB trains. It 's too. I beat my head against the wall of the train. The conductor passes, sees me and putting a hand on my shoulder makes me "Are you okay?" and I said "No. .. just no. " He understands, perhaps he has seen. Her "Come on!" He gives back a minimum of lucidity, in the end I am a man, do not need to cry and I know that sooner or later see her again. With manly solidarity with me in my place. Thank you, very kind, probably would have stayed in that hallway to Chiasso. It includes a nod and walks away discreetly. A cowardly tear rolls down, seen by all passengers on the coach (BPM show ... damn), but then I close my eyes and dive "on standby" in my thoughts beyond the Alps. With one conviction, then as now: not the last a time. "

Francis Storai