Pure fighters, he called one night
Piero Fassino. "But nothing has changed
. He also spoke to the Capitol.
Nothing to be done. He says that maybe it will end
, "I should not wonder if one day there was a
or other sheets of
people in my neighborhood."
eye does not close. "Every night there are three thousand
people gathering in the square
in which I live. The exasperation of
anyone living there came to danger levels, "he
raccontanto in an interview with Barbara Romano
of Free. "I would hope that there was
regulatory intervention." It will have to wait
, the secretary of the DS. Even
him, even though for years
keeps on hitting the button, we won nothing.
"I am very bothered by how they
degraded some areas of the old town."
So sleep late in coming, and more
that the chance of the Democratic Party are
those with megaphones screaming in the square beneath the windows of
Fassino,
at three in the morning, unbearably
annoying, not even one had pulled the hair shirt of
Binetti. He blurts out and mumbles
sleepless wandering around the house, the leader of
Via Nazionale. Below, as they say, "if
magna if you drink and if he sings," and every night
carry his cross, and Piero
makes even hard to concentrate on his beloved musicals.
It is not even the desire of
singing "Hello, Dolly!", As you can come
the words to face the day after, say, Francesco Rutelli? But the outburst
Fassino, in most of the newspaper
Felt, is a sign that the threshold has been passed
, exhausted the patience, tolerance
scraped off. A Veltroni certainly
ears must have booed, but will blame
noise that rises from the dead Romans, the casino remains
everything perfectly intact. "Eleven
restaurants in a square of four hundred square meters, it seems excessive
frankly," he listed
Fassino. The square is within walking distance from
House. "Not at all, seven restaurants, wine shop and a bar
" accounts
Flamini Luciano, owner of one of those restaurants
. He says: "So 'angry
only in three, and even if one is super important
we can not do a national scandal.
The fun can not be blocked by the two at night is a desert. "
says Flamini
all authorizations have been met, that there is
problem of public order, the megaphones
sell them in the street
the Chinese side that there are no drunks. "The guys have
go somewhere to have fun." The center of the square is occupied by
bar, some chairs fintoghepardate
to be astonished, and in fact
the tables seem to follow you everywhere.
front of a plate of cheese and pepper
Flamini explains and re-explain, "during the summer
people make more noise, it should be fun
, then there are too many workers."
short, irritation fassiniana
him - forced to shut down a nightclub that had
Prati, "because there was a lady who
to protest against noise was put on a cross" - does not understand.
Short Cuts: "A Torpignattara
is not true that there is no noise, no Torpignattara
Fassino. Which, not
is now lamenting the sad fate
rising from the square below. It tells of his phone calls
years old
to the Capitol, "not
I slept well last night, but nothing. Indeed, over time they arrived
well as Chinese. The main problem
city \u200b\u200bseems
his fear of the void. Where do you see
a quiet square, a peaceful open space, isolate
an alley, there is a trial pack runs,
to cram, to press. Nothing can be left
mackerel, lonely, silent.
The clumping occurs suddenly, with a sort of merry
hysteria. At worst, the local town hall
can place a statue - or diamonds or cubic
phallic columns of travertine: Michelangelo
but should find ways to get revenge
- peaceful gardens "retrained" (retraining,
terrible word in the capital, almost the other one from
sound menacing restyling) in stony expanses
where not even the dog knows where to pee
(but where they know where to pee
humans), useful in
useless fountain fountains rebuilt.
in this suburb. In the center, for one thing, you do not know how to escape
- pending
pain in the ass of the night - the breaking of balls
time of the aperitif.
This happy hour, you know: I miss the
retired journalists say more drink.
for a glass of sparkling wine and canapés
some constipated, we create gatherings that even
selections for the "perfect bride" s'arraffano
chairs and stools and walls, will tip the balance
honor (unaware Siffredi)
on winning a potato chip. And there are all, with the handset open
legs
groin height, and furiously beat
flying over the keys, and must be a tiring job
if you can not even pull
for the moment of drinking. Or maybe
the usual crap, and some unproductive
pippetta technological genius, but also
pippetta trend, that kind
Second Life - "Oh, you know who have I become?"
"Something better than a head
Cock? "- doing quite honestly
the first penalty - a life, oh yes!
Manco the poor people at the table of Caritas
make such a mob in
waiting for food. Well, of course, is social.
you're sitting a wall, holding a tumbler from sprouting
mountains of ice (deadly blow to
Polo, all the ice you need to refresh
a worthy happy hour), or mint or basil
vegetables varies three or four colored straws
:
an artifact of such proportions, filled with dignity,
could be used to mop
two or three offices. Wisely,
some poor guy who lives over there at one point threatens
worthy
bucket of water, which, unfortunately, almost never comes
. "Are not you ashamed?" Shouted a man in a
who was pissing
the hallway of the house. "Shame on you, who dresses
in Trastevere", a replica of Mrs.
dall'incontenibile bladder. With the advance of the night
-
open his stomach with the first drink - is where it gets even more
dark. In
Roman nights abound
vomiting (which happens), the urine (where it happens),
drunks (in many places), the noise
(everywhere). The unbearable
now runs under the skin of the city. If a
Fassino as he can not get away from a spider hole
, imagine a poor
whatsoever. The idea of \u200b\u200bthe Capitoline divertimentificio
- there are people who prefer
Rome to Rimini, and certainly not for the Galleria Borghese
at hand - went
perhaps more than any intention, and now appears
out of control.
the right to break the eardrums with screams and noises at three in the morning
is, at best,
equated the right to silence.
And almost always wins first.
the heart of Rome is a vast expanse of
tables, all of a Magna heavy
along roads and streets and ravines. Tourists from the air
not quite awake, working as waiters
buttadentro,
sometimes excellent food, lasagna, which they see them
disgust. Rome magna and drinks. Then
sounds and screams.
Now here the question arises: how
never the city that the mayor
more polite in the world, its well suited to
literature, curious and sensitive, has become a city
like rudeness,
like invasion, often
bad taste like? He asked a policeman to a tenant
exacerbated by the large pisciatorio
her house: "Can we come
on his balcony to check?".
maximum availability, "Sure. Just bring
well as snipers. " There's the adrenaline that
runs through the narrow streets of downtown and there
bile which breaks out into the surrounding houses.
So that's the mystery. Even
city prefect, Achille Serra,
polite and civil, also with a vocation
writing and led to some understanding of the phenomena of modernity
,
"in Montmartre and London
local restaurants do not close before three.
And we do, we close at midnight? "
is the personification of good education. And then, "I do not care"
compared to everyone else, where does?
This sort of regression to the primitive
and the casino, this widespread cafonaggine
mass, where does? A spot of leopard
, irritation - according to the chronicles
towns -
widens day by day: from the square of Fassino in Trastevere, with some lanes of
few meters and more than twenty local, Prati Testaccio
San Lorenzo in Campo de 'Fiori, where
has long struggle to maintain control of the area with a
perigliosità
strategy from Afghanistan. "There are the 'violence',
a violent game with the ball,
a sort of one against all.
ferocity and casualties, "he says with bitter irony, a policeman. Advance
the trendy places,
advances the casino. The latest idea comes
by the Financial Times, which has focused the eye
sull'Ostiense, "Here lives the new
Dolce Vita", and if so far around the gasometer
whether they were escaped, now come
problems. Everyone takes the appearance of
Dolce Vita in Rome, everything becomes an event, everything
clutter and trim and we recycle - and
become so well, for many, as only
a terrible life. The exact opposite of what
also argued that as an architect Massimiliano Fuksas
: "You have to remove,
remove, remove".
patrol
of drunks roam the city. There
something surreal in the disputes that turn on in the capital,
from "War of the tables," apparently
a notch above the classic "War of the Buttons" in reality tide
upright topomasticamente rampant, even in streets where
almost certain evenings
not even walk on foot. Those outdoor tables
Fellini imagined
heavy but happy in his "Rome" now transformed into a swamp
shapeless
without rhyme or reason. "Wild Coffee"
the newspapers call a classic Capitoline.
And then, the "war of the bottle" -
and keeps the glass, and put the glass, and feel the Tar
- and every thing you do Eternal and more
stretches over time and leaves
in the solution. In Rome, the alcohol flows
rivers, four drunken foreigners
damaged the fountain in Piazza di Spagna,
and alcohol-free
a woman is stripped and inserted into the Trevi.
Sometimes it seems a "Tana Libera Tutti" without
grace and without measure, the capital. They say, ah
, millions of tourists! A sort of
other dogma, tourists. Now, if one is not a
landlord or a taxi or a pickpocket,
tourists who cares? Since then a passion
town that the wedding with figs dried, the tourists are
million, buses
always the same, so you find some Chiappone
American, you can push as
want, but do not you climb on a bus. The newspapers chronicled
minute, are impressive.
small acts of bullying and vandalism
small
now appear to be part of the urban landscape. There are those who arranges
as he can. On the internet are testimonies
between anger and tenderness.
"Some time ago a band of
tambourines, drums, accordions and who
so on and so forth,
stations under my window, and despite a polite invitation to leave
took longer to play
I can not
smiles with obvious challenge. I gave him a bath! Time
five minutes (note the timeliness)
a policeman knocked on my door ...
. Because if you do not scream
you play, the concert being battered
now elevated to the rank of an inviolable right.
"Today we started
around nine o'clock in the morning. Accordion, then
jazz orchestra, then
small band of drums and accordion, and saxophone
accordion and again, with a
endless medley of songs from
besame mucho a passing Roman Barcarolo
'O sole mio. At this time there is such a
with trumpets, horns,
accordion and various tools, we hope
good night. " Nor is the parade began
musical-pleasure-Summer
Roman ... At best, for now the turn of
Punkabbestia, trying to soften
passersby to shell out something.
That is, they try to follow the animals, the owners need to
being
definitely unsuitable.
Roma angry for this
tangle of sounds and screams and piss
often finds himself in letters to the Chronicle of
newspapers, La Repubblica
the messenger to those Mary Latella, which six years
care of those Roman Courier, and
has already read a few thousand. And it is
indeed, the rude post - if we stay
discomfort, without advancing
side of crime - the most striking element
. Chaos and clamor,
"shocking disrespect", strollers
children locked
scooters everywhere, good night, vandalism, the
miniproteste
taking hostage the entire city ... Even the promise Atac
"training interventions
targeted in order to improve the professionalism of its staff
"(at the time, changed
currencies). Yes, of course, Rome, according to statistics
is decently safe, the mayor throws
down any abusive crap, but sometimes reality
clashes, as well
the media, with the finest intentions.
Chronicle of the Republic,
few days ago. Above article on Mayor
that brought aid to Malawi, "Dear
Africa, we shall return." Slightly further down,
a letter: "insulted by an African in
Viale XXI Aprile." There.
Something in everyday life in Rome,
is crumbling. Just one look
to notice. The center, for example,
at times seems a little
Calcutta: a generalized race begging,
the false sense of piety, the harassment continues. Crippled and maimed
false true that drag on
carts, drunks who claim
the traffic light with a tarnished piece
the headlights (not even clean the glass)
and screaming, fake old gypsy
lame and fake they struggled at the traffic lights
red, to take quick pitch to the green
time, people who exhibited
legs with bloody scabs, stumps
arts, children forced to beg,
entire families of glass cleaner that
patrol the intersections of areas, parking attendants
abusive with the air of cutthroats,
those who finish
behind the church doors. Then, as an
a bus trip without
itinerant musician who has long ceased to be the tender
penniless musician from neorealist cinema, you
usual spring those two or three piece of music, indifferent to gossip or
spaces, granite and efficiency makes three stops on
and three stops down, not one less
not one more. If you
along the road from Via Nazionale to
Arenula, crossing the center, we find all sorts of new
begging
from a window to another whole
groups mark the path. And
with extensive attention to the facts of geopolitical
, evolving from year to year
"poor in Bosnia" to "poor
of Romania "- being the same
unfortunate beggar. If you can avoid pickpocketing
by Zingarelli
- now consigned to a raid of clothes
as any adolescent:
newspapers are on page
photographic sequences that tell the damage to the tourist
more jello. Rome is so unbearable,
small path of exasperation
daily between
escape to the park with a pickpocket and
drunken screams near you and ask you the
money. One thing perhaps complementary
other side of town, that
restaurants, nightspots one thousand, one hundred
trouble: so happy, so as to sadness. Confusion
without joy, therefore,
something that seems to have taken only the appearance of
veltroni, refusing
substance. Veltroni, of course, much
spends. Evokes memory (any memory)
and altruism and good examples. But in
Marco Lodoli
happens to make a turn around a high school and 92 counts
(novantadue!) cars, those with motor
50, arriving there by scholars
adolescents. Are some thoughts, but maybe
simply do not trust the plebeian
bus. Or they found
already full of tourists.
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