Although there are magicians and fortune tellers who are afraid of foresight of the future, there are events that not even Nostradamus Nostrdamus ... but I say, not even be able to provide for Solange.
And I'm talking about the batch extraction or nuclear war. I'm talking about events far more complex, impossible to statistically model and describable only by recourse to chaos theory or the alternative theory of my bedroom, which in the end are the same thing . The prime example of such events is the Friday night . On Friday evening can start with the best omens and end with you holding the head of a unknown vomiting, but equally can be born bad and end with a touch of class that you never expect.
so happens that on a Friday night to come home and find your roommate tells you that the evening will be a Scazzi. Of course, do not you blurted in his face so, I guess he does it gently. For example, you mention the fact that just you and him. You mention the fact that the girls of the company have decided to make women-only night out, and that the boys have decided to scatter for Italy. Chiosa then with a " yahwn .. I'm dying of sleep ... .
happens so that you and him out for a pizza and a beer, thinking that will make the evening least pleasant. But the waiter made in china of the pizzeria, which sniffs Scazzi your evening, decides to help. And so when you order a pizza with dried beef, rocket and parmesan cheese, takes you so Bresaola, rocket and parmesan ... but without the pizza in the ... with some 'lemon though, eh!
happens then that the pub in which you want to go to those reported by Google Maps a false position, probably to make it more fun to research, so that you get around on foot among prostitutes and drug dealers.
Just when you're deciding whether to entertain Convenga in bargaining with a prostitute to escape to the dealer, or vice versa (with the new laws, better the other way round), comes the unforeseen circumstances, that had escaped the small Solange who is inside of you (figuratively!).
The girls, drunken night marches in the middle of their women, they feel a sudden need for male companionship and phone calls, asking (among a belch, a laugh and a little regurgitation) to reach them. You wonder whether it is appropriate, or whether it is better (seen as the evening is going to) go home and immediately do away with a good sleep. But your Y chromosome pulls you look, and so stop bargaining with the dealer (who has clearly acted as a diversion to stave off the hookers, but did bring dangerously tranvioni 4) and you walk to the Navigli.
Arrivals and aspects.
10 minutes assuring the girls. More
another 10 minutes, 10 minutes after reassuring.
Everything turns in just 3 quarters of an hour of waiting, but finally here they are, they shine and swaying. We placed a table in the pub, keeping in place some more for others that we will reach a little later. It is then that the universe has a small jolt, the space-time is curved a bit 'more than usual, and the bile of true-friend-fitness-first also becomes a bit more green ...
[Camera]: So, guys, ordered?
[Ilaria]: We are looking for friends, you can pass it through a bit'?!...
[Camera]: Ok, come on, do I leave the paper and pen, and you write us orders.
[Ilaria]: Ok, thanks ...
[Camera]: Review in a while '!
[Ilaria]: Yes, please!
[I]: It's' see what beers are ... ( read, among others, the Rouge Leffe, a Belgian beer lager red) ... Grandi, c'han Leffe! Skip the package that I sign a Leffe ...
[Luana]: I am writing!
[Pan]: They have Leffe?! Make one for me too! By the way!
[I]: Well, of course, by the way!
[Luana]: How do you call this stuff?
[I]: Leffe rouge.
[Luana]: It's' see on the list is rusge Lef ...
[I]: Toh ...
[Luana]: Uhm .. but you want the Red , Belgian or Double Malt ?
[I]: ... as ?!...
[Luana]: ... eh, here there are three types ... you want the Red, Belgian or Double Malt?
[I]: ...
[Luana]: ... ouh!?
[I]: ... do that if you get there by itself does not beat you ...
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