Boarding School Discipline 1

NO response to unfairness! Auntie

few days ago, we celebrated the woman. These days, as the feast of mom, Christmas, Easter and other festivities are expected by traders as an opportunity to give even a limited system to their economic accounts in this period are put to the test because of financial and economic crisis across our country.

Our dealers, even if the sharp reduction in revenues, they must always deal with many fixed costs such as TARSU, the tax on advertising, the eventual occupation of public space, l? ICI, not to mention IRPEF year-end economic and VAT payments.

Given all this, as usual, in connection with any public holiday collections are severely compromised because of unauthorized trading by non-Europeans are often not in good standing even with the existing rules on immigration.

Throughout the day on 8 March in the main crossroads of our community have seen many sellers of abusive mimosa, and even the Navy, they are placed between two florists that are located in Via Roma, thereby taking advantage of their position to meet the clientele of regular business.

No action of any kind on the part of our municipal government, nor by our policemen, who, with their utter absence not only cause economic damage to various businesses, are complicit in the racket, in this case the flower, which is behind this phenomenon, racket run by organized crime and the illegal hiring of illegal immigrants and immigrants.

Holographic Wills, Example

The smell of the world - Radhika Jha - By metro

I crawl blindly in the direction of the underground

finally are under the shelter of the station. The quay is crowded. And the smell does not bother anyone. The train comes screeching and the crowd pushes forward, took me with him in the train. Part of the signal, we close the doors and inside the train starts moving, picking up speed and enters the dark.

I look at the front door, there is a sticker with a familiar pink bunny with his paw stuck in the door. From the point where the leg is trapped thin black lines radiating pain. But the rabbit looks back over his shoulder, smiles and seductive. The separation is painful, but we must bear it with a smile. Perhaps it is natural to separate from those you love, if you want to live a life moving. Perhaps the choice is between love and movement. I think immediately Olivier. I waited patiently for dinner. But I'm trapped in a tunnel of eternal movement. Farewell Olivier, sadly whisper to myself, I fell out of your world. Inside the cab the false light of day smiles eternally.

The train speeds up and slows down along the curve at the entrance of the station. Enter a puppeteer. I sigh and look around. The other passengers have turned his eyes elsewhere. The puppet does not seem to notice. He bends down, pulls out a cloth of black velvet and hung between two poles of the carriage. Then pulls out a camera and the old system in the middle the corridor. He disappears behind the curtain.

from above the tent is a puppet that sings out of tune in a folk melody. Passengers begin to murmur and shuffle your feet.

- Stop with this boredom! - A man cries

You heard the man, Patrick eh - a second puppet appears that the first strikes on the head - and your song is terrible.

I look surprised.

- Alou Ahmed - the first answer - what else can I do. I have nothing to do. - The rest of the words are covered by the sound of a train that passes by side.

- What is it? - Calls second puppet

- A train

- No. You're wrong. It is not a train, is war.

- And you're crazy - take Patrick. No more no war now. The United States protect us

Someone laughs.

- I tell you I know the sound, it is the war

- Are you sure? And how do you know? He told you God? It 's your best friend?

- I know because ... - Jump to another train. The puppet falls, frustrated. - Merde, putain de train, me fait chier, I can not think

Some girls sneer for the obscenities.

- What? You think?

- Of course I think!

- What's the point? Someone pays you to think?

- Nooo. But I like it. I'm good at thinking.

- Mad. You can not be good if no one pays you. Nobody pays me to do something - the car falls silent: listening to all the puppeteer.

- Well, then you are free to make money. Want to make money?

Before you can answer the other puppet, a heavy masculine voice rumbling behind me: - Everyone wants to make money, but without working

I turn it is a bear of a man, imposing, with gray hair. Behind him is a group of six men, all with yellow helmets work.

- You know how to make money? - Asks the first puppet.

- Naturally

- You can not. You are Arab

- What do you know? My people was made up of traders before they know your count

- Balls. Your people ... all crooks. And anyway, what's your plan?

- My plan is simple and elegant. We send requests to the government saying that because there are not enough jobs, we create for ourselves ourselves work, but we need capital. So what I propose is that we give a certain sum to start our business

- Why should they?

- Why then should no longer pay any social benefits, reduce some taxes. You will see, they'll like, give anything.

me laugh, a cynical laugh, though.

- I like to take the monthly check. It makes me feel French - says the first puppet

Passengers laugh. But I can not join them.

- Do not be stupid, you can be independent, it is better to be French - says the second puppet

But to be independent must first be French, I think with bitterness. I look at the faces around you: they do not know.

- You can not - says Patrick - I am stupid. That's why I was kicked out of school. I can not think of anything that has not already been thought.

The audience laughs again. I look at them and envy is added to the anger at the puppeteer.

- Do not worry - the second puppet says proudly - I can help. I have lots of ideas - I see - Pour toi. Lavage-â-main - says

A moment of silence and the audience bursts out laughing. When the laughter subsided, Patrick says

- A laundry washing clothes by hand? What's good?

- Some people prefer to washing machine, it is more natural.

- You are a donkey. Go - Look ahead and start singing out of tune

- You're wrong - insists Ahmed - Believe me, I studied the market

- You know nothing - Patrick cries, almost in tears - you're just as good for nothing me. You know why the rich pay my mother? Wash them for their beautiful things in their apartments

Ahmed takes a leap back. - Why did not you tell me what your mother? - He pretends to think, his hand under his chin. - But your mother, what does with her clothes dirty after it has finished wash the dirty clothes of others?

- It has a washing machine - met Patrick responds

The audience laughs. Without realizing it, whether I join the group.

- Why did not you say that your mother has a washing machine - asks Ahmed

not you asked - answered Patrick crabby

- OK, not we enter into the personal. You use your washing machine to start a real laundry

- I can not. I can not use the washing machine. It does my mother always

Ahmed is exasperated slaps his leg. - So forget the washing machine. How does your mother with the rich in Paris, you can hand wash the clothes of the neighboring

- Ma?

- Nothing but ... - Ahmed said firmly - We believe the people who know it better than them. Better and cheaper, on a large sign. Lined up outside the door.

- but the neighbors know me. That's why I hide here - complain Patrick

Our laughter rises in unison. A gray-haired woman, her face marked by fatigue, I catch the eye. We look and smile.

- Are you a politician? - Calls of a sudden Patrick Ahmed - Because if you are, you'd better go and leave me alone. I do not vote

- I'm not a politician. I am an animateur des emploi

Patrick looks confused. Then giggle derisively. - What kind of job is this? I've never heard!

Ahmed keeps his attitude sure - does not matter - he says so arrogant - they are the first in a long tradition that opens to the future - Raise the arm as a priest - I will create jobs for all

- Are you? - Yells someone in the audience, snorting in disbelief. - Not even the government and big business can do.

- That's why great managers and bureaucrats are so large and important enough not to bow to look for cracks

- For fear of being fucked from behind - adds someone from the audience. Ahmed bends over slowly with a hand on your ass and looking back in fear. The entire carriage applauded frantically

The train stops suddenly in the middle of the tunnel. A voice announces that something happened in the next station. The puppets discuss the possible cause for the delay. But I do not watch anymore. I dream of a restaurant, my restaurant, immersed in the smells that I created. The train begins to move. I'm in the kitchen of Olivier, our kitchen, heated by stoves and vapor, where the smell is lost in my perfume when we make love.

back to the present, his mind still wanders into the abyss. Our car is crowded. There are people standing in the aisles. I look at the wall of bodies, the temperature rises and air compartment becomes smelly. Suddenly you drift into the crowd and see a small man, almost bent double. The hair falling over his forehead and greasy and cover practically the face, eyes that seem fixed on an invisible point just above the floor. Swing arms forward in moves that seem to spring not from a given direction with a train without feet, and the apathy with which sings the cry of the beggar. A shadow falls on the coach. The others stare, and then turn around, uncomfortable or irritated. Only the group of workers remains impassive. Moving and keep talking. Sending them because they can ignore the beggar. I can not. I see that is coming and I feel superstitious fear: I know it's my destiny. Now it's in front of some young people who stare at him blankly. One of them puts a coin in the hand dangling. He continues beyond three teenage girls and accidentally strikes the arm against the leg of one of the three. She cries, and look the other man in anger. The beggar turns around quickly, does not meet anyone's eye, and again repeated: - Merci. In the confusion, falls in the group of workers. This time notice it.

- Fait attention, merde - explodes the fat key

- Vaurien , villain - he adds another, scolding the beggar. A third man, the youngest of the group, with a face like a mouse, remove the hand of the beggar with a slap. The few coins fly off and fall to the floor. The beggar will sound and bend knees.

The foreman looks down and then look at the black curtain of the puppet. - Why collect that money? - Says, bending and grasping the beggar the hair: - You have not done anything to earn it, not the merits.

I feel my chest tighten the tension and return down the bile that grows in my throat. I look at the face of the beggar is soft, wrinkled, seems almost eaten by rats. The eyes are even worse: deeply embedded in his skull, with no expression, dead, surrounded by dark circles. They are crazy eyes, empty, and look inside.

The foreman mercilessly pushes the beggar into the puppeteer. - Look over there - he says to his companions, - here is an example of a job. Would it find another place? No. He is out of work for a reason, because it is not useful. Then a few excuses, get your puppets and get out of here

hold my breath. The coach is totally immobile.

- Talk about me? - Ahmed says in a choked voice - I'm not unemployed. I am an employee of the unemployed. One day you'll come to me. There are always jobs for the pigs, these days

- What? - Warms up the key - you called me pig?

Ahmed pretending to retreat in terror, her legs trembling: - Of course not, Monsieur. Pigs are useful animals. Provide us with food.

The girls start laughing, and so the other passengers. The face of the foreman, visibly angry, becomes purple. And almost hear a gnashing of teeth as they race against the black curtain, grabbing his head and smiling cheeky Ahmed.

Just then the train stops suddenly. The foreman loses his balance and stumbles into the camera, clinging to the curtain. Falls heavily, bringing the curtain and the puppets. The puppet master looks down and starts to help him, but the foreman pulls the spit. More workers: looks killers. Instinctively I grabbed the arm of the puppeteer and I try to drag him away. I hear a roar and the sound of something that is broken, as the metal hits the floor.

I look back. The workers in the rescue of their leader furious revenge themselves on the camera still, which was still filming. We jump over content, making it to pieces with heavy boots.

- Go to hell - screaming puppeteer - That's my camera

- Right. We will do that to you next time - and says the key to pieces with his teeth Ahmed.

In a fit of anguish the puppeteer is launched against him. The big key hits him like a fly. The showman falls to his knees. Surround him and start hitting him, kicking him, and meanwhile es'incoraggiano shouting at each other, I hurled against them, and I crouched over the puppeteer. We kicked. I hear shots in the back, head, face. The puppeteer, below me, is stationary. Then I hear someone shouting, telling the men to stop, says he does not hit a woman.

Suddenly shots are stopped. A stranger makes me sit down. The other passengers form a protective circle around us. - Let me help - says a voice rose - You okay? The port in the hospital? - A hand is extended toward me. I reject and I move slowly in the hallway, carrying the puppeteer. I followed reluctantly, moaning and struggling to dodge imaginary blows.

Just then the train stops and the doors open. We jump down. The puppeteer keeps complaining: - Arrêt , my purse, my puppet! - I look at the crowd on platform. The workers are crowded at the entrance of the coach, undecided whether to continue or remain in the hunt. Stare through the windows, make threatening gestures: - We will find, do not worry - says one of them with a movement of the lips. Finally the whistle sounds to start. The doors close and the train moves, leaving the dock and watch, and one after the other, the carriages pass booming.

Scorpion Clips Monica Roccaforte

The smell of the world - Radhika Jha - Dunkirk

I find a café, a small storm stirs me in the stomach. I open the door and am greeted by different voices, quiet conversations and discussions cry. The cafeteria is small and dark and around the bars are crowded of people, mostly men. The part where the dinner is empty except for a single person who sits in a corner near the window. I shows the next table and order a kir and a carafe of wine.

The man is so close I can almost touch it. She is eating a sausage. I look hungry. E 'coated skin stretched and transparent. The fork pierces the skin. The knife in his firm and the blue-veiled accounts for a net. The slice slips straight as an arrow in the mouth without lips, in the shade of a large protruding nose.

Champs. The floppy bangs long chin against the neck, making a small sound deep fat fat fat.

fascinated I lean forward, and our elbows touch.

- Excuse me - I go back and say

- please - the old man smiles - I can now talk

I look at him in surprise.

The smile widens: - You see, these are the human contacts. She touches me and now we can talk.

He reaches and touches my cheek voluntarily. - It 's great to get in touch with the people, especially young people. - I flinch, but also a little surprise 'alarmed. I do not want the weight of contact with this strange old man who turns casually to strangers.

- What did you think when you touched me? - Asks a friendly

The question catches me by surprise - I ... - the mind is empty - I forgot ... - I shake my head - It was not important.

- No, tell me, what was it? - Insists

- What is your fondest memory - ask for abruptly changing the subject

Man Sit back and think a few seconds.

- When I stayed with my wife for a year before marrying her - nodded to himself - yes those were the best years

- And after he married her, cos' happened?

- We have started a restaurant. I cooked, She served on the table and cleaned - looks around. - But it is always nice to stay in one place. You must travel, change of air.

She stares at me, his eyes intense. I nodded to encourage him.

- This trip, I go to many different restaurants, big, small, ugly, poor, and also enormous. I have three daughters. All good cooks. I encourage you to travel. In the town where I live, in the Alps, it withered by dint of not seeing nothing but cattle and ourselves. People are beginning to look like cows.

- Here, where comes my family, the cows are used to negotiate the wives - joke

- Really? - Puts it in his mouth and chew another piece of sausage. - Cows human. Maybe your people and mine, after all, are not so different. - Laughs loudly at the joke and raises his glass of wine. - Santé - drink to my health, tilting the glass in front of me. I take mine and I do the same. Suddenly the kir tastes better. I smile.

I look carefully, a strange smile on his lips. - But I bet you do not have cows lonely - he says, and chuckles with the air triumphant.

- What do you mean? - My smile hides a hint of irritation .- The cows are not lonely, are always part of a herd. - I drink a little 'of kir.

- The cows are always solitary human - he says with sadness - a new breed. Has not yet met, perhaps.

stretches to the jug of wine, empty. Him towards a bit 'of my own. Thanks me and takes a long sip. Then he starts talking, his voice low, barely audible above the noise of the bar.

- In the end the monotony becomes loneliness, and we wrap. Then the loneliness comes oblivion, and all is gray, more gray. There was a painter in our village. Every day mixing a drop of white paint with a touch of black, and painted a picture. Finally he placed in front of an old camera that had previously set up a tripod and take the photograph: he side of the picture. It was like this every day, every day and added a drop of white on the palette. At first the paintings were still black. Then changed: before dark gray and then, every day, the color began to lighten and the artist was surrounded by shades of gray stretch toward infinity. - Cut another piece of sausage. I finish the kir and start with the wine.

- And then? What is the end of the story? - I ask impatiently

- There is no end, there is always painting the same thing every day - just answers the old

- Oh - I am disappointed - Why then told me this story? - I ask roughly

He looks on their faces rapt. - Why? - And starts to giggle. - I do not know, I forgotten - He stops and coughs. After the cough is dry with a napkin tucked in front of the neck.

- easy to forget now. But I found a way to retrieve memories. In the right pocket of his jacket always cherish the receipts of the restaurants where I was in the left and the train ticket. My daughter Isabelle leaves me at the station of Martigny. I take a kir at the restaurant de la Gare, opposite the station. In this way mark the starting point of the trip. From then on, I keep receipts. And if the bill does not mention the name of the restaurant, I'll do write. So I know where they are is a very effective system.

I listen with envy. That old man was happier without memories. And perhaps he knew why he could talk freely with others, because they forget, as I forget and only remember the name of the restaurant.

ends the meal in silence, lost in his timeless world. Then suddenly he gets up and walks away. The plate is cleaned to perfection. The carafe of wine is empty. In between is the ticket, slightly dirty and already paid, with the restaurant's name written in clear characters. I grab the ticket and ride it out. - Sir - cry. But the wind blows away my words. The old man is swallowed by darkness.

How To Play Poptropica

THE BERLUSCONI SHOULD REMOVE THE DISORDER.

Tomorrow, the Council of Ministers addressing the reform of justice.

opposition reaches some tentative signals of openness to dialogo.Non's no illusion, but no better than usual in advance. On the barricades remain to judges, magistrates or better those who want to continue in politics as well as their own business . Today we publish a mailing list of judges, ie the system e-mail where the robes are exchanged views and agreed steps away from prying ears. What you read on our pages is staggering. The exchange of emails shows not only a climate of hatred against the political majority, the Parliament, the robes more moderate. There are indeed some evidence that prosecutors have targeted Silvio Berlusconi as a person, regardless of offense . These gentlemen are political, they want to interfere with the legislature, and most importantly during office hours, as reflected in the printed messages exchanged.

does indeed see a judge to call the prime minister "the Uncle Berlusconi" derogatory tone and address the problem that once made him out will examine the problem of his constituents , that twelve millions of Italians that the Head of the Judiciary evidently considered fools and perhaps even dangerous criminals.

But what political independence: there is a part of the magistrates in the secrecy of mail and not just throw the mask, so it is said that more than one concerned about the coldness of some friends from the left, ie the member majority.

togate more people then you are putting in private agreement to hinder and thwart the free activity of the Parliament. If they were not judges, are liable to prosecution and criminal association secret from their colleagues who see conspiracies everywhere . Unfortunately it is not an exaggeration, I know something those unlucky ended up in these ridiculous hours in the investigation of a mysterious P4, alleged subversive lobby, for which yesterday were searched the offices of financier Francesco Micheli. I know something I, for writing an article on the president of Confindustria, Emma Marcegaglia, I found myself interrogated and searched.

would be horrible, but interesting, search homes and offices of those judges so openly biased against Berlusconi and gravitates against any person in the center. Maybe you will find that are not so independent as claimed, who lost the minimum requirements to play one of the crafts on which stands a civil society. That is quell'imparzialità that guarantees citizens the right to be judged on the basis of certain facts, proved beyond a reasonable doubt and not the wave of theorems and political prejudices.

Tomorrow we will know what the intension of the Government. We only hope that, unlike what we have seen in these 18 years of the Second Republic, this time the ads will follow the facts.

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