Can Peroxide Determine Genital Warts

when it comes to me this time I take the bad bad thing called nostalgia, and there is shit ... I become boring, dull and boring but the beginning countdown and I say to all, I say no more, I want to return to my village. So I say to you, as I say to all: I want to go back to my village.

And here I am, almost a hologram on this desk, and I do nothing but think of my creative otium and cannoli cream bar Morabito, that at three o'clock in the afternoon, to my village, in December, looks like summer that even if there is no sun, that air is clean and transparent and there is the smell of the sea and cooked wine of sammaritine.
And in the morning of 24 when you get back from the square there are the windows of the houses open to let out of the smell of fried donuts and there is an eerie silence, for my village, falls on mondo, alle 13 la gente va a pranzo, a pranzo veramente, nelle case e seduti a tavola, con tanto di tovaglia e una caraffa di vino artigianale.

E casa mia è calda, calda di spesa appena fatta, di pane tiepido, fitto e scuro, di campanelli che suonano, della fantasia di mia madre, dei suoi presepi arabescati, di balconi da cui ci si parla, di caffè sempre sul fuoco, di un tono della voce troppo alto, chè noi al sud si grida sempre, sai poi il perché…E soprattutto c’è quel gioco che io e cri facciamo spessissimo, camminare sulla spiaggia deserta e umida, tra i detriti lasciati dalle onde e raccontarci storielline per ogni piccolo pezzettino di legno, plastica o latta che troviamo divertente… there is a novena, trequattro boys with accordion and tambourine move from houses to tell a story in music ancient and distant. And it is already evening, a little 'liquid and a bit' glazed, candied almonds and filled with my mother screaming that if I need to touch the nougat ice cream. Then there's the voice of my grandmother who sounded bright and firm, at midnight of 24 sang you come down from the stars reprimanded, which is fine, yes, eat, drink and cackle, but she at a glance 'clock and put 20 people in line all silent without uttering a word ...
And so begins my countdown, and I realize I am boring and always tell the same things, to make these little melancholy air, a refrain that has already given. And just, eh ... you're just boring boring ... but I

without a little melancholy and stupid, we do not know to stay, albeit boring boring ...