Can Stuart Be A Female's Name?

Hanna and his brothers (Part Three / ..)

Hanna. Somalia. Hampton's maid.
Mihret. Somalia. Hampton Maid's
Joseph. Somali. Hampton's waiter and handyman.
Asif. Sinhalese. Head to the gym and swimming pool in the penthouse on the roof of the Hilton. By day. Pastry chef by night.
Ismail. Sinhalese. Waiter Hampton's.
Saddam. Iraq. Security officer.
Mustafa. Egyptian. A janitor.
Noemi. Filipino. Cashier of a currency exchange.
Helena. Siberia. Flight attendant stewardess or better. We Italians are the only ones who call Hostess. Without knowing the meaning that is often given to the term refers to a profession as old as ignoble. Chao
Nin. China. Hostess. To use a term refined. Prostitute brothel. To be precise.
these people have in common? Some share a common profession. Almost all have to do with the Hilton Corniche Hotel.
are all simple people. I
all people with an open smile and sincere.
Smiling and being friendly is also part of their work.
come from different cultures who taught him to be happy for what they have. Cultures that taught him to be unhappy about what they can not have.
All I have been friends.
would be a great honor that they also consider me a true friend.
of each tell you something. Something
. Something we in the West
escapes easily.
The passage of time, for example, percutaneous
run like crazy. Rallentarlo.Il illusion of time.
To slow it down really need to travel at speeds not possible, close to the speed of light. Our
civilization is based on the fact that time is a constant. t = K. But time is a variable.
But for the scale of the rate at which we move seems a constant. It 's all relative.
E 'relativity of Einstein.
To exploit the time, we try to make a sea of \u200b\u200bthings. Thus seem to have had more, at the end of life.
because we think we measure time according to the density of the things we have done inside. And so give it a value.
According to the scheme by which value is attributed to material things. The lack of availability of time makes it invaluable.
The availability of time takes away so much value. It is the Keynesian theories of the twentieth century. Political Economy.
The value of a bottle of cold water in the equatorial wilderness. And the value of the same bottle in the Lakes in Canada.
Westerners to have more of contract time.
Elsewhere, however, the swell. With appropriate pauses and gaps.
serving at least as much as full. How
breaks on a staff. They give meaning to the rhythm and music. Outside the West
time has a different value.
They are nice to stop and let it flow.
It 'nice to do things. Or make them all many do not improve. Improves their life. Asif
So bear with suffering, yes, but also with a smile, the distance by his wife, who remained in India.
and living peaceful lives waiting to be able to call home every two weeks.
And you can go and see her once a year.
During the last visit, the year before, have conceived a child.
E 'born a girl. Asif but now has a bit of a hurry west too.
wants to see and embrace this child who has already almost three months. And
'his first child. The
has seen only in photographs.
When the anticipated end of the game had already expired, I, Daniel and others there reporting on the daily news.
Asif smiled, spread his arms and said "not yet, not yet." Not yet.
was excited, in those days, and very nervous. Not stood still for a moment.
Asif is young. Small of stature, muscular and with olive skin and hair blacks, dense and curly.
Asif has the smile of a child.
Asif is a cannon.
During the day it occupies the twenty-fourth floor of the pool. Line up the chairs, towels ready, bring drinks on the rocks lying to customers like rags in boiling water and shade merciless sun. Lava
baths and sauna. Yes, the sauna is also some crazy here. Takes bookings for Thai massage. The gym is separate from the pool by a large tinted windows. Arab children in the pool go there with his dad.
Some boys in bathing costume. Others and girls, they do clothes, light cotton clothes and wide enough to allow the movement.
Dads take a bath with the little ones in costume.
Mothers, with their black robes and head covered, remain seated on a chair under an umbrella.
Some young Arab women come here to soak up the sun, because this is a place for Westerners. They put on a bikini and like to chat with the Europeans. Do everything to prove their emancipation.
are rich. Very rich. They studied college in Switzerland. They speak different languages \u200b\u200band excellent English.
I graduate, beautiful, cared for, he likes to provoke people to death with their innate sensuality. They talk casually about sex, alternatively use the verb to fuck or to screw, without so many metaphors and allusions.
come here in secret. Their families do not know.
At the restaurant, sitting in groups, make beautiful smiles from under the veil of silk elegant. The restaurant is friendly place. Gladly dine here. They order a la carte and they never go to the buffet.
But if you meet them in the city will pretend not to see you. Why do not you have ever known. And the cell phone number to which they send messages delicious and not your ambiguous.
Asif has its work cut even with the well-equipped gym overlooking the ocean. In the morning there are not many willing people in the evening but there's quite a hustle and bustle.
Asif had tears in her eyes and cried with joy, she hugged me and shook his head slightly, from shoulder to shoulder, pivoting on his neck. The Sinhalese are just saying yes. We do well to say no.
But yes, yes, nodding her head, her daughter was born.
We were all happy with Asif.
Asif, when the gym closes at nine o'clock in the evening, takes a shower and change. She dresses in white.
descends about twenty floors.
It starts another job. It is a skilled pastry chef, prepares fantastic cakes decorated with layers of chocolate, fruit, caramelized almonds and lightweight balls of yarn to sugar and honey crisp.
The cakes will be served the day after Hampton's. The
Travel Asif to return to his family three months' salary costs. With all the attention and the savings, since he sent his wife all he could, he could not ragranellare enough money for four or five months of last belt hole.
Daniel who is so mature as intelligent, despite his young age, brought up a collection among colleagues.
Offer Asif journey back home has made everyone happy.
The joy of Asif and his disbelief when we gave him the envelope has aroused in us a feeling hard to hold. To be able to leave had to wait for his boss gave him the long-awaited vacation. But more was done. It was just
expand the time patiently as the Orientals do know.
When it came my time to leave and return to Europe, Asif wanted at all costs to prepare a cake to take with me. "Asif does not work! The cake gets since i have gone Such a long journey." "Do not worry Mr. G.! I know."
And so I prepared one of his umpteenth night in a beautiful plum cake, filled with wonderful pieces of candied fruit and chocolate and hazelnuts. Has been packaged for me pretty well, well protected. Asif
The plum cake I've eaten in the garden I had in Styria. Carinthia where the hills slope gently towards the vast plains leading to the Danube.
I ate plum cake in a sunny morning, in Europe, in a garden of a house that had a place and a reason to stay. So it was for six years.
I did not know what would be my last morning in the garden.
that morning I remember, above all, the cake of my friend Asif.

Can Stuart Be A Female's Name?

Hanna and his brothers (Part Three / ..)

Hanna. Somalia. Hampton's maid.
Mihret. Somalia. Hampton Maid's
Joseph. Somali. Hampton's waiter and handyman.
Asif. Sinhalese. Head to the gym and swimming pool in the penthouse on the roof of the Hilton. By day. Pastry chef by night.
Ismail. Sinhalese. Waiter Hampton's.
Saddam. Iraq. Security officer.
Mustafa. Egyptian. A janitor.
Noemi. Filipino. Cashier of a currency exchange.
Helena. Siberia. Flight attendant stewardess or better. We Italians are the only ones who call Hostess. Without knowing the meaning that is often given to the term refers to a profession as old as ignoble. Chao
Nin. China. Hostess. To use a term refined. Prostitute brothel. To be precise.
these people have in common? Some share a common profession. Almost all have to do with the Hilton Corniche Hotel.
are all simple people. I
all people with an open smile and sincere.
Smiling and being friendly is also part of their work.
come from different cultures who taught him to be happy for what they have. Cultures that taught him to be unhappy about what they can not have.
All I have been friends.
would be a great honor that they also consider me a true friend.
of each tell you something. Something
. Something we in the West
escapes easily.
The passage of time, for example, percutaneous
run like crazy. Rallentarlo.Il illusion of time.
To slow it down really need to travel at speeds not possible, close to the speed of light. Our
civilization is based on the fact that time is a constant. t = K. But time is a variable.
But for the scale of the rate at which we move seems a constant. It 's all relative.
E 'relativity of Einstein.
To exploit the time, we try to make a sea of \u200b\u200bthings. Thus seem to have had more, at the end of life.
because we think we measure time according to the density of the things we have done inside. And so give it a value.
According to the scheme by which value is attributed to material things. The lack of availability of time makes it invaluable.
The availability of time takes away so much value. It is the Keynesian theories of the twentieth century. Political Economy.
The value of a bottle of cold water in the equatorial wilderness. And the value of the same bottle in the Lakes in Canada.
Westerners to have more of contract time.
Elsewhere, however, the swell. With appropriate pauses and gaps.
serving at least as much as full. How
breaks on a staff. They give meaning to the rhythm and music. Outside the West
time has a different value.
They are nice to stop and let it flow.
It 'nice to do things. Or make them all many do not improve. Improves their life. Asif
So bear with suffering, yes, but also with a smile, the distance by his wife, who remained in India.
and living peaceful lives waiting to be able to call home every two weeks.
And you can go and see her once a year.
During the last visit, the year before, have conceived a child.
E 'born a girl. Asif but now has a bit of a hurry west too.
wants to see and embrace this child who has already almost three months. And
'his first child. The
has seen only in photographs.
When the anticipated end of the game had already expired, I, Daniel and others there reporting on the daily news.
Asif smiled, spread his arms and said "not yet, not yet." Not yet.
was excited, in those days, and very nervous. Not stood still for a moment.
Asif is young. Small of stature, muscular and with olive skin and hair blacks, dense and curly.
Asif has the smile of a child.
Asif is a cannon.
During the day it occupies the twenty-fourth floor of the pool. Line up the chairs, towels ready, bring drinks on the rocks lying to customers like rags in boiling water and shade merciless sun. Lava
baths and sauna. Yes, the sauna is also some crazy here. Takes bookings for Thai massage. The gym is separate from the pool by a large tinted windows. Arab children in the pool go there with his dad.
Some boys in bathing costume. Others and girls, they do clothes, light cotton clothes and wide enough to allow the movement.
Dads take a bath with the little ones in costume.
Mothers, with their black robes and head covered, remain seated on a chair under an umbrella.
Some young Arab women come here to soak up the sun, because this is a place for Westerners. They put on a bikini and like to chat with the Europeans. Do everything to prove their emancipation.
are rich. Very rich. They studied college in Switzerland. They speak different languages \u200b\u200band excellent English.
I graduate, beautiful, cared for, he likes to provoke people to death with their innate sensuality. They talk casually about sex, alternatively use the verb to fuck or to screw, without so many metaphors and allusions.
come here in secret. Their families do not know.
At the restaurant, sitting in groups, make beautiful smiles from under the veil of silk elegant. The restaurant is friendly place. Gladly dine here. They order a la carte and they never go to the buffet.
But if you meet them in the city will pretend not to see you. Why do not you have ever known. And the cell phone number to which they send messages delicious and not your ambiguous.
Asif has its work cut even with the well-equipped gym overlooking the ocean. In the morning there are not many willing people in the evening but there's quite a hustle and bustle.
Asif had tears in her eyes and cried with joy, she hugged me and shook his head slightly, from shoulder to shoulder, pivoting on his neck. The Sinhalese are just saying yes. We do well to say no.
But yes, yes, nodding her head, her daughter was born.
We were all happy with Asif.
Asif, when the gym closes at nine o'clock in the evening, takes a shower and change. She dresses in white.
descends about twenty floors.
It starts another job. It is a skilled pastry chef, prepares fantastic cakes decorated with layers of chocolate, fruit, caramelized almonds and lightweight balls of yarn to sugar and honey crisp.
The cakes will be served the day after Hampton's. The
Travel Asif to return to his family three months' salary costs. With all the attention and the savings, since he sent his wife all he could, he could not ragranellare enough money for four or five months of last belt hole.
Daniel who is so mature as intelligent, despite his young age, brought up a collection among colleagues.
Offer Asif journey back home has made everyone happy.
The joy of Asif and his disbelief when we gave him the envelope has aroused in us a feeling hard to hold. To be able to leave had to wait for his boss gave him the long-awaited vacation. But more was done. It was just
expand the time patiently as the Orientals do know.
When it came my time to leave and return to Europe, Asif wanted at all costs to prepare a cake to take with me. "Asif does not work! The cake gets since i have gone Such a long journey." "Do not worry Mr. G.! I know."
And so I prepared one of his umpteenth night in a beautiful plum cake, filled with wonderful pieces of candied fruit and chocolate and hazelnuts. Has been packaged for me pretty well, well protected. Asif
The plum cake I've eaten in the garden I had in Styria. Carinthia where the hills slope gently towards the vast plains leading to the Danube.
I ate plum cake in a sunny morning, in Europe, in a garden of a house that had a place and a reason to stay. So it was for six years.
I did not know what would be my last morning in the garden.
that morning I remember, above all, the cake of my friend Asif.

What Is The Average Bra Size In The United States

Hanna and his brothers (part two)

The landing at night 'city airport in Larnaca, Cyprus, I remember it well. Stuff a few months before.

remember after escaping from the porthole of the slats and spoilers, with the airplane that had settled in the final along with small adjustments on the local ILS Localizer. I remember the sea, coastline, city lights, beautiful to die. I remember the touch that seemed far beyond the runway threshold and powerful braking with reverse trust, taxiing to the parking lot for a forest of long eternal connections. I remember smelling, even without being able to feel, the smell of the Middle East. I remember the tanker and supply ship that moved with a coolness that reminds you to be in the Middle East. And not in Stockholm or Frankfurt or Heathrow. In the Middle East.
Larnaca is a magnificent Mediterranean port Eastern Europe. People were passing by when the man has learned to ride here and there across the seas. How do you do when the Apennines as highway the highway to go south. But far more beautiful and romantic and clean, even.
We all remained seated in assigned seats, the technical stop lasted about half an hour. No cigarette. I'm the only little or passenger in civilian clothes, with flip-flops and faded jeans. The whole row of seats reserved for me. Few, very few clues reveal who I am and what I do. I stare, especially the bigwigs. No longer appears on their lists, I know. But nobody comes to ask for an explanation. They see the packages intended for the embassy from which I separate myself even to go pee. They will think that I am a fake beard, or the Intelligence Services. Cleverly, they leave me in peace.
Takeoff and after a few minutes of flight shows the coast of Lebanon and the lights of Beirut, bombed city.
Virata right on the sea, heading south.
Soon appears in the distance, blurred in the haze, Tel Aviv. I think of Syria, in Damascus, a city of enchantment, if ever, will visit one day. Not now, not recommended tourist destination, you can not. Then
Jerusalem. The town meeting. The city that everyone wants. That divides the city. The epicenter of the monotheistic religions. Prey to tear, the symbol must. For which to die. And kill. All children of the same God, all generated by the descendants of Abraham and Isaac. Before the Jews, then Christians of Jesus, then the followers of the Prophet Mohammed. For thousands of years go on like this, the eternal battle between more or less interspersed with brief silences weapons.
Silence in which stones sharpen swords, meditating revenge in the crucible of hatred that seethes and falls asleep. In the search
obtuse, spasmodic and blind of the roots of their reasons are unable to predict any future. Summary
widespread among pilots is that for which when you land, the section of track behind you does not count, you count the stroke is available. Nice metaphor, universal. A perspective for looking at things.
Thoughts I agree, then become round and images mormidamente short circuit, and I fall asleep.
When I open my eyes, beneath the plane is all black. I do not understand if we are between two layers of clouds.
Then there are lights that flicker, scattered in the dense black.
It 's the desert. There are oil wells.
It's three o'clock in the morning, local time, when the bow door of the 'A320 opens up a wall of hot air, moist and dense.
go down and look someone in the military police, of our people, give up some packages that need to reach the target, and discretely ask for advice and allowed the precious cargo stowed in the middle of my heavy backpack.
We gaped at and decide groped the easy way side from ass and customs.
I mingle with other people and I approach the immigration desk. The airport is half empty but the mustachioed policemen and customs officers are numerous and lying in wait for slack. There are also
policewomen in uniform sugar paper, grades sergeant, and the chador. All obese and stocky. The guy behind the glass
scans the passport, goes over all the pages one by one, check out the visa and where I went running, slowly. Is repeated in reverse. I
the calm, unsmiling and without showing nervousness, control gestures. I follow my suitcase and a backpack that disappear and reappear on the other side of the box the ultrasound. The guy throws the monitor looks distracted.
"Why visits to our country? "she asks without looking up Arabic." Businnes burdens and tourism as well ".
noise that leaves a red stamp on my passport.
" Welcome in the UAE, God bless you ".
before winning the release stop me two more times and I double checked the documents. Under the palms there is a white Toyota with whom I have come to take, backpack suitcase in the trunk and back seat with me.
Only the morning, when the metal detector gate of the Italian Embassy, \u200b\u200bbreathed a sigh of relief. commit S. Daniele ham (bone-less footprint grant to the ultrasound) friend of my friend who thanked me and extends a business card, for any casino were to happen to me. It 's a precious gesture.
Ham, prohibited goods. Pork, animal inedible. The import, use of Western, is granted only after a drawing that would give up too much patients.
import prohibited goods. I broke a rule. Severe as all the rules, however simple, that regulate this civilization.
Later, from Vienna, after having made a stopover in Qatar, I have dissected the luggage. I only had a Sacher Torte. Go well.
I go out on the path of flowers, the elegant and ordered the embassy district, traffic is absent, the very blue sky and not a living soul.
E 'Friday. Day of celebration and rest.
And 'their Sunday.
I'll get used soon.

What Is The Average Bra Size In The United States

Hanna and his brothers (part two)

The landing at night 'city airport in Larnaca, Cyprus, I remember it well. Stuff a few months before.

remember after escaping from the porthole of the slats and spoilers, with the airplane that had settled in the final along with small adjustments on the local ILS Localizer. I remember the sea, coastline, city lights, beautiful to die. I remember the touch that seemed far beyond the runway threshold and powerful braking with reverse trust, taxiing to the parking lot for a forest of long eternal connections. I remember smelling, even without being able to feel, the smell of the Middle East. I remember the tanker and supply ship that moved with a coolness that reminds you to be in the Middle East. And not in Stockholm or Frankfurt or Heathrow. In the Middle East.
Larnaca is a magnificent Mediterranean port Eastern Europe. People were passing by when the man has learned to ride here and there across the seas. How do you do when the Apennines as highway the highway to go south. But far more beautiful and romantic and clean, even.
We all remained seated in assigned seats, the technical stop lasted about half an hour. No cigarette. I'm the only little or passenger in civilian clothes, with flip-flops and faded jeans. The whole row of seats reserved for me. Few, very few clues reveal who I am and what I do. I stare, especially the bigwigs. No longer appears on their lists, I know. But nobody comes to ask for an explanation. They see the packages intended for the embassy from which I separate myself even to go pee. They will think that I am a fake beard, or the Intelligence Services. Cleverly, they leave me in peace.
Takeoff and after a few minutes of flight shows the coast of Lebanon and the lights of Beirut, bombed city.
Virata right on the sea, heading south.
Soon appears in the distance, blurred in the haze, Tel Aviv. I think of Syria, in Damascus, a city of enchantment, if ever, will visit one day. Not now, not recommended tourist destination, you can not. Then
Jerusalem. The town meeting. The city that everyone wants. That divides the city. The epicenter of the monotheistic religions. Prey to tear, the symbol must. For which to die. And kill. All children of the same God, all generated by the descendants of Abraham and Isaac. Before the Jews, then Christians of Jesus, then the followers of the Prophet Mohammed. For thousands of years go on like this, the eternal battle between more or less interspersed with brief silences weapons.
Silence in which stones sharpen swords, meditating revenge in the crucible of hatred that seethes and falls asleep. In the search
obtuse, spasmodic and blind of the roots of their reasons are unable to predict any future. Summary
widespread among pilots is that for which when you land, the section of track behind you does not count, you count the stroke is available. Nice metaphor, universal. A perspective for looking at things.
Thoughts I agree, then become round and images mormidamente short circuit, and I fall asleep.
When I open my eyes, beneath the plane is all black. I do not understand if we are between two layers of clouds.
Then there are lights that flicker, scattered in the dense black.
It 's the desert. There are oil wells.
It's three o'clock in the morning, local time, when the bow door of the 'A320 opens up a wall of hot air, moist and dense.
go down and look someone in the military police, of our people, give up some packages that need to reach the target, and discretely ask for advice and allowed the precious cargo stowed in the middle of my heavy backpack.
We gaped at and decide groped the easy way side from ass and customs.
I mingle with other people and I approach the immigration desk. The airport is half empty but the mustachioed policemen and customs officers are numerous and lying in wait for slack. There are also
policewomen in uniform sugar paper, grades sergeant, and the chador. All obese and stocky. The guy behind the glass
scans the passport, goes over all the pages one by one, check out the visa and where I went running, slowly. Is repeated in reverse. I
the calm, unsmiling and without showing nervousness, control gestures. I follow my suitcase and a backpack that disappear and reappear on the other side of the box the ultrasound. The guy throws the monitor looks distracted.
"Why visits to our country? "she asks without looking up Arabic." Businnes burdens and tourism as well ".
noise that leaves a red stamp on my passport.
" Welcome in the UAE, God bless you ".
before winning the release stop me two more times and I double checked the documents. Under the palms there is a white Toyota with whom I have come to take, backpack suitcase in the trunk and back seat with me.
Only the morning, when the metal detector gate of the Italian Embassy, \u200b\u200bbreathed a sigh of relief. commit S. Daniele ham (bone-less footprint grant to the ultrasound) friend of my friend who thanked me and extends a business card, for any casino were to happen to me. It 's a precious gesture.
Ham, prohibited goods. Pork, animal inedible. The import, use of Western, is granted only after a drawing that would give up too much patients.
import prohibited goods. I broke a rule. Severe as all the rules, however simple, that regulate this civilization.
Later, from Vienna, after having made a stopover in Qatar, I have dissected the luggage. I only had a Sacher Torte. Go well.
I go out on the path of flowers, the elegant and ordered the embassy district, traffic is absent, the very blue sky and not a living soul.
E 'Friday. Day of celebration and rest.
And 'their Sunday.
I'll get used soon.

Colds Virus Blood Test

Hanna and his brothers (first part)

This story weaves, because the fate so willed it, a piece of the life of some people who unknowingly, unwittingly, have been important to me. Spectators and players in a fantastic and memorable time.

What if there were they with their simple humanity to prepare the ground for the facts after I suffered a lot more.
Hanna, Joseph, Mihret, Ismail, Asif, Saddam, Mustafa, Noemi, Chao-Nin and Helena.
not forget you.

left the warm sea and white, almost a mirror, makes movements slow and softly breaks, you might say shame, against the massive stone ordered. On the right the glittering skyline of a theory of modern skyscrapers, which seems interminable. Lights on in the fourth to fourteenth and the fortieth floor. They are almost all owned by powerful companies that extract oil and gas and selling it to the world that can not help it.
The show is really exciting.
In between, Corniche Road.
Fa watershed between the Indian Ocean and the bastions of modern civilization, technology, visions of architects and engineers of hyperbole from around the world there is no data conference. And they told Release, no doubt, as would children with buckets color and large sheets of paper. Would like sailors in a brothel after months at sea.
Corniche Road is a breeze in the wind sail between the port and the Emirates Palace, a lot of miles to the east.
In all six lanes, three in each direction, along the seafront. Illuminated by a myriad of street lights, interrupted by a succession of traffic lights, crossed by a snake of cars that will not stop flowing even at night. The Pakistani
driving like a madman, impassive, without opening his mouth. Nails, and restores the last moment to avoid gas safety cameras camouflaged among the palms, which he knows by heart the location. Cars overtake on the left and right. Roaring race cars with engines of eight cylinders on all gasoline, all with automatic transmission. Here there is simply no diesel and the manual transmissions have only taxis that are all of Pakistani Toyota two thousand. Here
public transport do not exist, as we Westerners understand them, at least. No buses, trolley buses, buses. No metro, no trains. Only
taxi. Many, many, thousands of taxis that run continuously. Human blood from the veins that feed each orthogonal fabric of the city that pulsates. Taxi driving with a Pakistani. Taxi
white with green stripes and gold, with a man in a white robe and sandals and a dark beard that can reach the chest. Men who have no age. Blacks and men with eyes like deep wells of which you can not see the bottom.
Men of which can be difficult to maintain the look of defiance, the meek, for the most part. Men
disenfranchised, exploited. Men who are worth less than the taxi driving for fourteen, sixteen hours a day. The sea
tonight seems more black and the lights from the buildings look as good as my taxi driver takes me down to the Corniche Road. I look out and do not stop liking what I see.
The geometries of the Arab public gardens that adorn the coast, with the difference in pools connected by canals and fountains set like precious stones, beautiful creations that a silent army of other derelicts, the Horn of Africa this time, maintains, and by night and every night. Planting grass on the sand the desert. Grass with that infernal heat burns and should be replaced after a few days. The show emerald green grass and flowers never ends. Powered with constant irrigation with giant desalination plants, which make the sea water sweet to taste. The taxi has
seats fabric coated with plastic and thick, like copritovaglia garden, sweaty back while the rest of the body freezes. The Pakistanis keep the air conditioning to the whole barrel, these conditions are bombs with plate heat exchangers under the floor of the car to respond to fifty degrees in the shade and 80% humidity, the heat hit you get when you get is really strong.
"My friend, Could You Please set the cooling down? Am gettin'sick "
He screams" What? No Understand, Pakistan Pakistanis! "
" Fuck you and your mother, here, my friend Understand. "Simply does not like to see.
The radio broadcasts continue the litany of the muezzin and the music they listen to all the religious holy days, virtually never get out.
The dashboard cover it with a carpet pad that appears, usually red or green, or yellow gold, with long fringes and some tinkling ammenicolo. On the back of the front headrests are two plates in Arabic and English. One reads: Driver, and gives the name and picture of the Pakistani, the other states: Owner and shows only the name and address of the owner of the Arab taxi. One does not have a Pakistani taxi. The guide for a salary for which we will not put either foot out of bed in the morning, leaving us to die of starvation.
The Pakistanis are trying to fuck a few cents by always pretend not to have change. Or refer a little at night, after 23.00, when the law allows him to turn off the meter and then the fare is agreed before and haggled with a smile.
The Pakistanis, here in this compartmentalized society, without caste, are the last link in the chain. I can only imagine the feuds and the Middle Ages. But today, the Lords have i-Phone in my pocket and Panerai wrist and at least a Porsche Cayman. And possess slaves of the modern era, including, inevitable, a Filipino Maid House. The Pakistani
turn right and reverse, stopping on the hill is the main entrance of the Hilton Corniche Hotel. I put some coins in the hands of taxi drivers who thanks him with a groan and his eyes lowered.
Muskarat opens the car door and gets me. "Good evening Sir, how are you?". The
I winked while the heavy double windows open onto the concierge of pink marble, lit by a crystal chandelier simply enormous and beautiful.
I go in a hurry, are waiting for me for dinner.
Saddam, call the elevator, I can press ahead and call me before.

Colds Virus Blood Test

Hanna and his brothers (first part)

This story weaves, because the fate so willed it, a piece of the life of some people who unknowingly, unwittingly, have been important to me. Spectators and players in a fantastic and memorable time.

What if there were they with their simple humanity to prepare the ground for the facts after I suffered a lot more.
Hanna, Joseph, Mihret, Ismail, Asif, Saddam, Mustafa, Noemi, Chao-Nin and Helena.
not forget you.

left the warm sea and white, almost a mirror, makes movements slow and softly breaks, you might say shame, against the massive stone ordered. On the right the glittering skyline of a theory of modern skyscrapers, which seems interminable. Lights on in the fourth to fourteenth and the fortieth floor. They are almost all owned by powerful companies that extract oil and gas and selling it to the world that can not help it.
The show is really exciting.
In between, Corniche Road.
Fa watershed between the Indian Ocean and the bastions of modern civilization, technology, visions of architects and engineers of hyperbole from around the world there is no data conference. And they told Release, no doubt, as would children with buckets color and large sheets of paper. Would like sailors in a brothel after months at sea.
Corniche Road is a breeze in the wind sail between the port and the Emirates Palace, a lot of miles to the east.
In all six lanes, three in each direction, along the seafront. Illuminated by a myriad of street lights, interrupted by a succession of traffic lights, crossed by a snake of cars that will not stop flowing even at night. The Pakistani
driving like a madman, impassive, without opening his mouth. Nails, and restores the last moment to avoid gas safety cameras camouflaged among the palms, which he knows by heart the location. Cars overtake on the left and right. Roaring race cars with engines of eight cylinders on all gasoline, all with automatic transmission. Here there is simply no diesel and the manual transmissions have only taxis that are all of Pakistani Toyota two thousand. Here
public transport do not exist, as we Westerners understand them, at least. No buses, trolley buses, buses. No metro, no trains. Only
taxi. Many, many, thousands of taxis that run continuously. Human blood from the veins that feed each orthogonal fabric of the city that pulsates. Taxi driving with a Pakistani. Taxi
white with green stripes and gold, with a man in a white robe and sandals and a dark beard that can reach the chest. Men who have no age. Blacks and men with eyes like deep wells of which you can not see the bottom.
Men of which can be difficult to maintain the look of defiance, the meek, for the most part. Men
disenfranchised, exploited. Men who are worth less than the taxi driving for fourteen, sixteen hours a day. The sea
tonight seems more black and the lights from the buildings look as good as my taxi driver takes me down to the Corniche Road. I look out and do not stop liking what I see.
The geometries of the Arab public gardens that adorn the coast, with the difference in pools connected by canals and fountains set like precious stones, beautiful creations that a silent army of other derelicts, the Horn of Africa this time, maintains, and by night and every night. Planting grass on the sand the desert. Grass with that infernal heat burns and should be replaced after a few days. The show emerald green grass and flowers never ends. Powered with constant irrigation with giant desalination plants, which make the sea water sweet to taste. The taxi has
seats fabric coated with plastic and thick, like copritovaglia garden, sweaty back while the rest of the body freezes. The Pakistanis keep the air conditioning to the whole barrel, these conditions are bombs with plate heat exchangers under the floor of the car to respond to fifty degrees in the shade and 80% humidity, the heat hit you get when you get is really strong.
"My friend, Could You Please set the cooling down? Am gettin'sick "
He screams" What? No Understand, Pakistan Pakistanis! "
" Fuck you and your mother, here, my friend Understand. "Simply does not like to see.
The radio broadcasts continue the litany of the muezzin and the music they listen to all the religious holy days, virtually never get out.
The dashboard cover it with a carpet pad that appears, usually red or green, or yellow gold, with long fringes and some tinkling ammenicolo. On the back of the front headrests are two plates in Arabic and English. One reads: Driver, and gives the name and picture of the Pakistani, the other states: Owner and shows only the name and address of the owner of the Arab taxi. One does not have a Pakistani taxi. The guide for a salary for which we will not put either foot out of bed in the morning, leaving us to die of starvation.
The Pakistanis are trying to fuck a few cents by always pretend not to have change. Or refer a little at night, after 23.00, when the law allows him to turn off the meter and then the fare is agreed before and haggled with a smile.
The Pakistanis, here in this compartmentalized society, without caste, are the last link in the chain. I can only imagine the feuds and the Middle Ages. But today, the Lords have i-Phone in my pocket and Panerai wrist and at least a Porsche Cayman. And possess slaves of the modern era, including, inevitable, a Filipino Maid House. The Pakistani
turn right and reverse, stopping on the hill is the main entrance of the Hilton Corniche Hotel. I put some coins in the hands of taxi drivers who thanks him with a groan and his eyes lowered.
Muskarat opens the car door and gets me. "Good evening Sir, how are you?". The
I winked while the heavy double windows open onto the concierge of pink marble, lit by a crystal chandelier simply enormous and beautiful.
I go in a hurry, are waiting for me for dinner.
Saddam, call the elevator, I can press ahead and call me before.