Story: Santana - Awakening and Fasciatus & Breakfast The first sunlight of a new day hits him in the face, Santana wakes up in his bunk, is bathed in sweat, he gives a pat on the face, shaking a little 'heads and with the agility worthy of the best elephant, jump off with an improbable leap from what is commonly defined his beloved cave.
back on his feet, begins to take its first steps, sways slightly, is still quite groggy for revival, perhaps not yet disposed of the last hangover varies dramatically first right, then left, avoiding at every step of tripping the numerous empty bottles and cans scattered all over the floor, reached the door, so if you can definirsi quella vecchia, squallida, roulotte, un ingombrante ammasso di lamiere, legno e rifiuti in cui il porco è solito trascorrere buona parte delle sue giornate, ha ancora gli occhi socchiusi mentre mette il sinistro piede, scalzo, sul terreno erboso.
Avanza, trascinandosi lento per una decina di metri, raggiunge la siepe di rovi antistante, si guarda un po' attorno, ed inizia ad urinare, un grosso topo nero viene colpito da quella pioggia improvvisa, e scappa via di corsa.
Santana, impassibile, alla vista del ratto esclama:
« Maledetti! Maledetti topi! Pensavo di avervi sterminati tutti, non resisterete ancora a lungo! Un giorno o l'altro vi sistemo io! »
Un tizio che ha appena assistito a quella scena a bordo della sua Simca Chambord, mentre percorreva a bassa velocità la strada lì di fronte, non resiste alla tentazione di fermare un attimo l'auto, tirar giù il finestrino per apostrofare il vecchio, dicendo:
« Santana, sei solo un vecchio pazzo! Guardati, sei in mutande, parli da solo e pisci in mezzo alla strada! Pazzo! Fatti curare Santana! Pazzo! Fatti curare! »
Non appena, il vecchio sente quelle grida, si gira, di scatto, si china, afferra un grosso sasso da terra, in un impeto di cattiveria, scaglia con tutta la forza che ha in corpo la pietra, mandando in frantumi il lunotto posteriore della Simca.
Il tizio rimette in moto l'auto, sgomma e parte a tavoletta, mentre fugge urla loudly:
"You bastard, you do not know what you did, this will not appeal at all to Mr.Ferdinand, you fucking baby! You're fucked, do the end of your store! Mad! "
The guy does not finish in time to utter the word" crazy ", which also ends in the rear view mirror right pieces struck by a second stone, scared to check the left mirror and see the shape of the Santana chase, the old bastard runs, possessed, in his underwear, hot asphalt and barks like crazy:
"Stop! Stop! I have to break your face! Son of a bitch! Anf ... Stop! Tell that bastard that Franz does not frighten me. Anf ... Anf ... destroy it! Bastards! Bastards! Anf ... Anf ... "Exhausted by the unexpected
morning run, Santana increasingly breathless, he decided to desist from pursuing this mad chase, now the car is too far away, then turns and looks amazed at the five hundred meters of road that has just path, slowly walks towards his trailer, making the large circular movements with his arms, a sort of weird exercise de Faticanti.
After a few minutes of slow walking, finally reached his den, salt in a caravan, is close to the small electric refrigerator, opens it, looks for a few seconds the content, grab a Corona, you pass the frozen bottle on his face, looking to cool, then uncorks leveraging metal handle of the fridge, he collapsed on a dusty old chair and then stick the bottle in about ten seconds of the thirty-cl Crown, are already stored in his stomach, and another empty bottle goes to adorn the floor.
The bastard, always sitting in a chair, reaches out and grabs land from a large flowered shirt, wear it but not the buttons, then searches again on the floor, grabs the jeans, wear them with difficulty in sitting still.
decides to get up, out of the trailer, and here he is, standing barefoot on the grass, with his usual jeans, filthy, the usual flowery shirt, unbuttoned, here it is hard to come up close from the right pocket a stick of licorice , lie down supino, sul prato, mettere in bocca il rametto di liquirizia, assaporarlo, guardarlo per poi dire:
« Fe – no – me- na- le... Questa si che è vita! »
Memento 
