Nine of the night, supermarket, day off in the middle of the week. I have a secret pact with the shopping cart, I push and he holds me (almost a prophetic image of my future octogenarian). My overwhelming fatigue contrasts with Miss Fiamma. List in hand, walks the aisles, back and forth, select the necessary items, achieved with a tin of tomatoes break the top shelf, a field goal in the bundle of spinach cart. Just to see her in this frenzy, I'm almost giddy.
Miss F: "Do you want to relocate some saccotinos ?"
Me: "What?" ("Zoquetitos said?)
Miss F:" Oh, my love. I'm on fire and you with that face of Pigs in Space! "
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