hands with long slender fingers, hands gnarled and stubby, cool hands with soap, hands, young and more mature hands, white hands, black and yellow, with bare hands and gloved hands , Well-Manicured hands and sloppy hands with painted nails and with nails bitten hands, sweaty palms, dry hands, warm hands and cold hands, clean hands and hands dirty ... all in a row, one behind the other tired and throbbing touch without knowing it. I hear all about me and every one tells me his story. That
Hugh says that she is tired of repairing engines (which are now fifty years ago), wants to rid the streets of big blanket to indulge in light strokes to give his grandson Luca. That
George brings with him the error of youth: a small star tattooed in prison, where he spent two years for drug dealing.
Andrew's, today, is feverish: yesterday reached its first breast. That
Julia, reticent and proud, he asks: "I say or not to text messaging to the bastard I cheated ?!?".
those of Henry smell of smoke and you feel guilty: he had promised his mother that he'd never smoked.
The hand of the "Poet", today, is more filthy than usual: not found anyone so generous, to pay him a sandwich, for one of his poems, so he had to rummage through the garbage of the Chinese restaurant.
Maria has just returned from Mass, we go every morning at 7.30, and now his hand has a particular aura of holiness.
The tired old Antonio's hand let go, now is come to an end, after a long illness.
Today is the last day that I have to. And even though tonight's reps pulizie cercheranno di eliminare le impronte che Antonio ha lasciato su di me, non ci riusciranno: nessun detergente potrà cancellare l’incontro di mani che è la vita, e che domani, anche senza Antonio, non cesserà di esistere.
Lucienne, Paris
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