SHORT STORIES
short stories, stories of science fiction, fantastic tales, erotic tales, yellow stories, stories of a couple, stories of love, horror stories and everything I want to tell.
With the sun that still wants to burn my skin, lying on rough synthetic jute, I listen to the case of a battery a few bathrooms further away. The last tail stroke of the summer in the Riviera.
Up is down on the elastic. Aurora. Three somersault girls. Tu-pa, tu-tu-pa.
Reggae. Then sixties. Strange mix.
And women alone with the latest fashion phone. Children in the cottages. Fathers in the city. Big games. Further on there is a sand castle which has been painstakingly erected and ruined on the ground by a child's evil heel. Effort not his own.
I feel in this blue sky the leap of September as it progresses. Incalced by his cold brothers. I cannot fully enjoy this last warmth. The shop windows are full of winter clothes. Wool and feathers. Curved stylists on drawing sheets. The fashion industry. Art? Perhaps.
However, the sun warms up. The wind is a slight coolness, but you just hear it. Bathers are converging massively towards the bar, where they offer an inexpensive non-alcoholic cocktail. They look like seagulls on a sinker. Always hungry. Parasites without shame.
And the heat that doesn't seem to diminish. With the afternoon that is coming to an end together with this summer of afa and rains. Love there looks at me like a puma lurking in ambush. And I take and leave. But I don't know if I like it. I have seen love in his eyes. But not always.
And I should stand up. Take a bath in the not really clean water of this sea, which is only an immense gulf in which it sows the whole of northern Italy? And we're inside as it suits good diligent holidaymakers. Yes, maybe I should. What pushes me to resist? No advertising. No to silly consumption. No to fashions. Solitaire hero in front of a sea of dirty clouds, like that picture.