Friday, July 1

The tightrope walker



I still knew the circus when it showed trainers dressed in brilli-brilli that embedded their heads between the jaws of beasts while they spread their arms like Pepito Piscinas about to plunge into the water from the trampoline to ejaculate the pretty girl from the corral. The first circus I attended was one that came to Tangier. The mother of Francesco Cavazzutti, my best friend from school, one whose grandfather wore an eye patch and had participated in the Mussolini black shirt march and then World War II (guess why his family ended up in Tangier, no ?), He was kind enough to take us because we got really hard.

You never forget the smell of grass that

It gushes from the field when you leave the vomitory when your father takes you by the hand to watch your first football game, nor the first time you observe the lions up close there in a typical circus of the early seventies wearing a patched tent. The clowns did not amuse me, the acrobats then collected the dung from the ponies, thereby disrespecting them, and the chimpanzees dressed as people distilled an I don’t know what disturbing as dangerous and stocky thug of easy faca. The lions, that’s where the hoot resided. Well, a lion and his lionesses. But the claws, the fangs, the thick drool that hung from their lips mesmerized. On the other hand, tightrope walkers, forgive me the guild of honest tightrope walkers of the universe, bored me. A little step, and then another, and then another. As a child one needs action, and not that kind of lazy aerial ballet. I remembered that balancing act when, just before the year ended, Pedro Sánchez insisted on the need to balance public health, mental health and the economy. Good hours. Look, I thought, now Don Pedro plays it as a tightrope walker while families, with the price whiplash at the beginning of the year, are forcibly practicing survival tightrope without a net. No wonder the tightrope walkers scared me …

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