I happened to go to the bank. I state that I hate banks and money, say the secular power in general, because sometimes when I'm in the mood I like the Trotskyist remained under capitalism. Anyway I was there to collect the money that I deserve a little work done on behalf of the first two months of temporary employment agency vampire / occasional performance that I will mention only for my personal disgust.
that makes you laugh and then call it work since it is an inventory, ten jerks in a row counting the stuff on the shelves of shops supervised by a supreme idiot and tan plastic.
Okay let's talk about 'is a bank. When you enter the first of a series of innumerable doors myself and my companions and comrades we are facing a monitor with the face of a kind. Now, the kind you see it, that is its face with its expression (in his case because it concerned a single expression) and its specific physical traits unique, yet are not quite sure he sees you. That is, there is probably because someone decided that the face of a security guard could intimidate some would-be robber and / or black block so everything is ok (more or less), but the ridiculous thing is that once you got inside gathering, and a thousand billion cameras, another monitor with the same face of ass.
In forty minutes in a row I have kept well and I deducted those baffling reality:
. The type works eight hours a day with a camera pointed in his face, which perhaps is frustrating
. The type does not seem to rub anything in the world saw that has been there all the time to giggle by just looking into space (there is a second person?) and talking on the phone with invisible people.
that I was there with forty minutes of my time wasted and a small piece of paper from the ass of the value of forty euros I asked myself over and over again because if its role is of great avenger, exposing the atrocities of turbid, did not come to my rescue?
After all, even for a short time I was member of that bank, so why not go by the bank manager to rebuke the fact that only one door was open and that there was a profusion sdaure umarell and plagued by severe bouts of nostalgia?
Oh, Death, because you have not driven the Calabrian tamarro that challenge in unknown languages \u200b\u200bfostered my anger?
champion of justice more than any other, down to earth for us insecure little desire and less and less because you will manifest only through the screen?
Why do not you clear with your uniform and make a clean sweep of the renunciations that surround us?
Why?
here a much more cheerful version of the same lived
0 comments:
Post a Comment