Brace yourselves, because now I say something racist. In fact, much worse: I write. We're here, we two patients in our bedroom, when a nurse enters with glasses and freckles that says no appeal: "I think in here there is a bit 'too many people." Then both my parents - for whom the word of law is a nurse, especially the hospital - they leave me alone in the room with my buddy Arben and his four relatives who continue to talk without even giving me the comfort of listening to their stories , since they speak Albanian. Except that I cut in the belly I would raise a protest, but I refrain because Arben old with her bump behind the head (and a wife who weighs twice as mine) is apparently worse than me and has even need someone who's courage in the face until the nurse arrives with the hair blacks, l ' other, saying that after me, now, it's his turn. So patience
port, reach out on the table to take the headphones and listen to the concert in Cologne Keith Jarret now that I know by heart but every time I do the same effect. The piano music runs through my ears and I feel better already because there, in place of the drip, there's a bottle of paracetamol that I enter in my veins.
Tonight I get home. Great thing that we call modern health in the sixth flight, us and the Albanians, when we have an ailment such as mine that I do not want to reveal what I said because it is clearly (and crudely) a man of middle age.
hospital and all of you study.
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