I've always been a very careful, careful if you define a person who pays attention to details, even the little ones. I never thought of being a person who deviates from average intelligence to do it physically, I must admit though that there are a lot of situations that bothers me, among them the thing was I could not stand the way I looked at the greengrocers. That bastard practiced in front of my building. Every morning I descended the stairs, I kept my gloves with his teeth while I was working for the tie coat on the ground floor once I take the electronic lock and he was there, on the other side of the road, arms folded and look disinterested. I left running towards the bus stop. In that short journey I felt a sense of guilt and being heavier than air, if I turned around he was there absently, staring at me mockingly, "Bastard!" but I thought I was not a long time to curse the bus was always on time. In the evening, returning home the shop was now closed, but almost always when I acted on the lock of the house, whenever I was expecting an ambush ambush a vengeance. Yes, I had a guilty conscience, that it is now clear we are not clear but at the time everything was different. For example, those dirty cops that I saw walking down the sidewalk every morning knew what I thought also that the old woman looked out the window of the bus I thought of myself as a young man from adultery. The lady who was distributing the food in the canteen was aware of the fact that I never washed their hands after using the toilet, so I hated it. I hated the cashier at the supermarket where I used to go regularly, she knew that never fails to put in place after the goods have her evaluated. Firefighters who looked at me wrong I could go through the windows of their trucks, a short but intense look of hatred and anger toward me and my home where I could probably forgot myself turning off the gas. At work, everyone hated me, this is a mathematician will say, not really. The man who supplied the water I hated most of all: he knew that stealing a few drops of the bubble in most plastic bottle to fill my personal use instead of a glass, I was paying this stunt with eyes that seemed to flaunt the murder. My employer teased me in all ways, for example, once forced me to finish the job by the end of the week saying it was important for everyone, the penalty was huge loss of money for the whole society. It was so not because he trusted me, but because doing so would so that everyone would hate me unanimously. The climax was when crossing the road on pedestrian crossings is not a car almost hit me. It was a sign. So I decided to end my life. Just a few blocks away there was an eighteen-story building from which I could jump in and put an end to this torment. First I had to be ready for any eventuality, I must not fail. If the elevator leading to the roof was out of order, then I should have done all the eighteen-story walk. I began an intense workout every morning at dawn so that we can address all the steps of that building in one fell swoop. I went up and down the stairs of my building with obsession, sweating and pumping blood to no more I can. Always get better but not having time to take a shower I went to work covered by a rather unpleasant odor. For this reason I was hated even more. One night I saw the window of the building in front of my building a child stare, no doubt with hate, I lowered the shutter and then lift it at times but was always there. I took the hat off his jacket and threw me running through the narrow alleys of the buildings from time to time and looking behind him as if I had the breath of a ruthless murderess. Courses and stopped panting, leaning on a traffic light. I heard a hoarse voice behind me, - Friends are looking for something? I turned around after a while focalizzai shooting a man - Dude I talk to you're looking for something? The I stared for a moment and replied - Do you feel smart and? Do you feel your better than me with that grin and full of hate it? The stranger laughed to himself and muttered something. I took a shot and agganciai the wall, he screamed struggling - Let go!, Begging. - Damn bastard are you like everyone else right? Are you the father of that boy who was watching me from the window right? I heard screams in the distance, the poor man suddenly let go and ran almost dragging me back home. I woke up on my bed the next day.
routine began again. I did workout, I left behind me the fruit, crossed again but this time the old lady on the bus, wherever I received sharp glances of contempt. I closed my eyes and turned my eyes to the palace was venerated as a prophecy of peace and loss of consciousness. Arriving at work I found a letter with a proposal to dismiss its on my desk, it was written something about my physical or mental condition. Those worms wanted to send me home, I knew you hated me and I signed immediately get rid of that weight. I do not know exactly tell you what took me, this time I used the bus I walked, I noticed that the autumn morning in contrast to the gray hours before announcing clear, the clouds thinned out one by one, leaving room for a fresh sun and pungent atmosphere. I walked carefully along the path by drawing a path perfect and watching as much as possible the complicated structures of the trees almost completely denuded of leaves. In the call waiting for the pedestrian light was a moment to search the car right in front of my nose, their drivers. Rays of sun from time to time reflected the windows of the buildings, creating an oasis of light on the asphalt. Once home I made a nice shower, hot refreshing long, then it took all my goodwill gesture seemed to shave and this playing on my old limbs. I left the bathroom in a bathrobe, I prepared with great care the Moca and put it on the fire, took out two biscuits a little 'honey, open the window of the small ledge that overlooked the street, the kitchen became clearer and clear. Coffee mocked as a tractor on the stove, I poured a bit 'on the cup and made breakfast. An instinct almost as if it were automatic automation primordial pushed me to my computer, I turned, I felt overwhelmed by a frantic desire to write, as a flood of creative nonsense. I changed the PC had finally started, then spent minutes, hours, breathless and on where the breath becomes only sufficient if compared to the flow of words that I was leaning to type. Called it my short work, "Diary of a careful person." As I printed two copies, the first leaned on my desk the second I took her with me, close under my arm as I climbed the eighteen floors of vertigo. I now focus briefly on the sun by the smoke from a chimney by writing the last entries in ink.
My last words:
We are a reflection of our dreams faded. How cruel life. A bizarre obstacle course ready to absorb in horrible tragedies. As for me I try to stay away from you, eternal dreamers, bearers of authoritative dogma from around the world. Sellers of fake cards.
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