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The afternoon course of restoration was about to end and the worm-eaten old clock on the wall had unquestionably won hands down his personal challenge against the fine table Louis XIV, who, despite being a decoration of exquisite and the subject the lesson of the day, could not absorb a negligible fraction of the entirety of the attention that the slow movement of dust and had hypnotically precise clock from class tired and tormented by a number of cluster headache. The only student who kept meticulous dedication to focus on the dovetail joints of the precious furnishings of course sat in the front row and took notes feverishly on an elegant leather-bound notebook, on which, from time to time, did not disdain to draw sketches that portrayed with astonishing fidelity hours inlay of one foot, now the floor of a shelf, now a knob of a drawer. When the clock struck

wearily seven, with the reflection of feline class rose as one man and sprang towards the door muttering vague and unconvincing words of greeting at pleasing the teacher. Only the man in the front row move with lassitude, closing the notebook and carefully picking up the twenty-seven typed pages containing a detailed account of the iconographic research he conducted about Louis XIV furniture bed. The young preceptress looked at him full of admiration and pride, as only women unmarried, without children and just outside the menopause can do, or perhaps instead one of those looks that whisper of candles, linen, sweat and meat handled, and sometimes even latex, handcuffs and other gadgets applicability of versatile ... one of those looks that only unmarried women, childless, and the gates of menopause known address.

The man had already collected all her hand bag and headed toward the exit of the classroom is empty. The teacher (who, for the record, had forty-six, was unmarried, had never generated creature and had recently started to feel strange hot flushes) intercepted him with a move by destroyers and laid her gently hand-edited on the sleeve of his coat.
- Go away already? - Whispered mellifluous.
- Unfortunately duty calls me - the man said, looking from the bottom of two eyes filled with infinite weariness.
- At this hour?
- There is no time for those who need justice.
The man shook his head, shook him gently and walked away from the gently persuasive but this lady let slip the fingers of his hand on his flannel coat.
- But I'll see her in class next week?
- Without a doubt.
- Remember the tables ...
- Of course.
- If you need some advice ...
- I'll call it willingly.
- So good evening ...
- Good evening.
- ... on Wednesday ...
- ...
- Lieutenant ... Darkness.

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Awakening

Bemolle When he opened his eyes, all you saw was intense, velvety black. "Oh great, I ended up back in the carburetor Y10", he thought with unbearable self-pity. Immediately, however, he realized that there was the usual smell of unleaded petrol, or his limbs seemed to be forced into a few cubic centimeters, rather, as they abandoned their peripheral nerve plexus the lethargy that had caught them when he fell like a dead body falls, flat taken gradually aware of the fact of lying prone, four of clubs, on a moist surface, hard and knew that tile.

With great effort, but also with great satisfaction (Because anything that costs a great effort, sweat, tears and sometimes blood, if brought to fruition successfully, or at least avoiding tragic failures, provides great satisfaction to him - or her - that, having escaped from sea to shore, turns to the water perilous and gazes; today, in fact, it's day quotes Dante), flat picked up his small forces, and finally assumed a posture worthy of the attribute of "biped" conferred by several encyclopedias, and websites other Greatest Hits of human knowledge, gender Homo Sapiens Sapiens . Homework for the diligent reader: logical analysis and review of the period of this section.

short, Flat: do not lose sight of the gay protagonist, while checking the integrity of the major joints of his musculoskeletal system. But how is it that he found himself face down in his lane, a short walk from his tent? Flat not remember anything of his death. The last memory that retained the smell of her flatulence was mixed with one of thinner, and then found himself with the incisors in the porphyry. That same part that damn narcolepsy hysterical? Yet he thought essersene freed forever, thanks to a terrific diet of hot peppers he had found on the Modern Woman ... a true panacea. But, evidently, was not enough. Resigned, he took yet another jalapeño from his pocket, with determination and bit into it, chewing and tears, walked to his tent, determined to spend at least a few hours so unconscious, but not in direct contact with the pavement.

It was only as he opened the zipper that ran Scubidu the ground.

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Call / Call

- What are you doing here? - Asked flat.
The man nodded condescendingly, stretched his lips with the air of one who had too much to tell but no time to do it and then pointed to the Scubidu, followed by the look of flats.
- One Scubidu here? In front of my tent? Oh, wait ... I think I recognize you! We met at the event last week, no? I have to apologize but I do not remember your name ... was, as it was?

The man's voice had something ancestral.
- I have many names. I'm here because you too can finally have one.

Bemolle trembled, for the second time during the evening. He had the uncomfortable feeling that the man's voice was not a sound, but that rings directly into his mind, without having to go through the tedious rigmarole larynx -> vibration -> wave -> eardrum -> inner ear -> brain. As it might seem convenient, flat was a traditionalist. The novelty of the thing put him visibly uncomfortable.
- But I've got already a name ... My name Flat. - Said in a trembling voice, even timidly, holding out his right hand to the stranger - I guess you did not even remember you on the other hand, we hardly presented ...
- Bemoccolo My dear, you speak a name that you will survive. A name as old as the deserts and changeable as the clouds, a name that will flow on and soak you with his immanence - and then, after a pause in effect, he added - A name of a prophet.
- A Prophet ... I?
- You have been chosen.
Bemolle fell to his knees. The tears flowed plentiful.
- Who are you? ... Who are you?
- I've come to take you away. I am the Kwisatz.

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2 / 1

After a long day spent chasing towels taken away by the wind, even a mind as innately harassed and subjected to Bemolle beginning to show signs of slowing, as withering attacks of trigeminal neuralgia, sporadic nail biting acute and a measurable increase in the frequency of scaccolamento. Like every Thursday evening, had made jam from his old friends in the circle of tampering gates and had spent a couple of Oretta in the company of several pairs of sweaty armpits, hidden in a basement waiting for those stubborn workers FAAC resign apparent evidence that the photodetector had found a way to secrete spontaneously cherry milkshake. But even such goliards had managed to distract him from the emptiness of the day just past, even the dullness of the two muscled laborers, unable to notice the disturbing truth that the epistemological alluded sugary secretion. Indeed, what once would have done it now would only smile a nagging itch.

was therefore in this mood that spleen Bemolle opened the zipper of the Canadian four-and took his leave from the festive company, which celebrated the success of yet another act of civil disobedience. I sensed his bare feet cold and wet pavement, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end to the rush of a suitable temperature and a shudder ran along the back, right leg, foot and leg and then back through the bladder and stop in front of his left love handle. His eyes were now accustomed to the darkness and could already distinguish the light from stars and the shadow cast by the net constellation Spoons Steam, which would lead without fail to self-assurance of his cozy igloo camping and the reassuring hum of the Ferdinand lattice. How many sweet dreams had been lulled by its mast protector! Flat felt like it had become impossible to do without, which had now developed a complete addiction to his acoustic frequencies. Moreover, it was somehow sure that the trellis similar feelings towards him.

Bemolle came near the tent when it can already see the dawn. At about ten paces he stopped, made a fart, whistled the first notes of "Minor Swing" and immediately realized that something was wrong. The alley was strangely quiet, the smell of turpentine was more intense and, among other things, he forgot his pants at the party, but, more importantly, there was a bald, dark skinned, who sat next to the legs drawn tent while she wove a Scubidu nonchalantly. She was wearing just a T-shirt and shorts, the colors would be well described as the equivalent of a cat with color stomach ache that while meowing frantically rasp with the four paws on a blackboard.

Bemolle took three steps forward and the man finally noticed him, he looked about him and with majestic slowness it erse in all its small stature.