coming out my new novel, Six Coffee, published by Eumeswil, a sort of yellow, or noir, often with many aspects, and I hope, entertaining.
Soon will tell you more and maybe add a list of presentations and image cover.
Meanwhile, to tease a bit 'curiosity, here's how it starts.
Ah, I forgot! One of the main characters has a specific reference to reality. Indeed, with a gang of happiness of Table Wolf.
However, as I said, it starts like this ...
Prologue
To get from Mimmo need to go to the railway bridge, turn right at the traffic light, make holes all the way and work in progress along the tracks, turn right again along the avenue of trans and then immediately left to squeeze in an industrial area so comfortable that if there is one from a slum in Nairobi but at least you say 'that shitty place!
the very bottom of this urban jewel is the body of Mimmo, a rectangular white and peeling, certainly abusive, pulled up between a dead engulfed by weeds and an abandoned warehouse with broken windows and faded lettering.
called Domenico Mimmo. E 'of Naples and Pozzuoli carrozzaio officially does, in fact.
E 'stocky, talkative and blowhard, but a little' we are the loyal. Youthful memories.
The team of the Centre, Mimmo played left wing. He played left wing and passed the ball because he was never convinced that he is strong, the heir of Maradona, according to him. On the other hand, just one of us had it at his feet, the fucking ball, you'll scream passes by, passes, passaaaa!, hateful as a horn. But above all
played left wing because it was a terrible great blowjob, and we unanimously decided that over there in that position a po'defilata, did little damage and his screams could be heard less annoying. What
then at each corner, there is a litle amateur stocky brawler and pain in the ass, screaming throughout the game convinced that football is a private matter between him and the ball and that usually turns out to be a cosmic broccaccio. Usually plays left wing, and is called the Neapolitan Domenico Mimmo said. Just as our carrozzaio.
Life, unfortunately, is a hair different from a football game. Why scream and never pass the ball, to be quarrelsome, and braggarts spaccaballe in the field almost always lose. But in life, well 'in life sometimes helps. Or at least helped Mimmo, this for sure.
Fifteen years ago, when not working in body shops, Mimmo played football with us or attend certain sinister turn in the square and behind the local market. He was a henchman of one or another drug dealer in the area. Robetta by little, normal things in the District, an easy way to make ends meet.
Then one day he decided to turn, harder to do the dribbling. Or is it or nothing.
He made the carcass, Mimmo. E ' went to the police and started to blurt out everything, absolutely everything.
names, hierarchies, trades, places of meeting of all gangs in the area. All.
They made us look great, the police. An impressive haul, a sure shot.
District cleared within three hours, not even the FBI had turned, with a lot of headlines in newspapers and promotions to rain.
Everything for the tip of Mimmo, all in one night. After
, Eric has been a sort of immunity. In exchange for his confession has become an infamous sort of untouchable by law enforcement. The award was given in the total monopoly on the illegal trafficking of the District and leave him alone today. It
so did a great goal. He put on his own, has suddenly become powerful, tolerated and protected.
now commands a band of those pieces of shit that the cleaner has the itch. People you trust, who does not think for a moment to plant a knife in the throat or smash your thumbs if sgarra a payment.
E 'rich, Mimmo, has become very rich, very quickly, certainly the richest in the district. That a few million I'll put away quickly if you control for the entire business of hookers, coca, theft and extortion.
Now Mimmo is a parallel power to that official, in the district.
most feared and efficient, in fact, than Journal. A very influential person, a real authority, no doubt. Everyone knows and is good to know, otherwise, in the district, you may be ugly.
And most of all we know, his former teammates. We know, and then licks a little 'the butt, now, that big rascal Mimmo. Then maybe that also makes us any favors if we need it.
As we hope will happen tonight.
the entrance to the industrial area of \u200b\u200bthe guards Eric has quite efficient, able to signal the entry into its territory and to categorize them as friends or enemies.
When we arrive in the yard of gravel surrounding the body, a great guy, and bald-faced pit bulls in a bad mood is already there waiting for us, standing, arms folded in front of the door is closed.
Be 'arms. I have that diameter of the wheels of the scooter.
shows us the back door by moving imperceptibly to the left eye. You probably can not talk, dowry, however useless and not required when you're a beast of two meters by two and you're in the band Mimmo. Fortunately that the watchman has cataloged us among your friends.
out of the car and continued our trip. When extension before the Beast get a move instinctively, feigning indifference.
The back door is an iron-red, is narrow, allowing the entry of a person at a time. Mimmo keeps us in these parts.
We go one at a time.
Mimmo is sitting at the bottom of the garage, in the twilight. Welcomes us with a provocative smile under his thick mustache blacks, the Gambotto stretched on a plank work. He has yet to be carrozzaio dungarees and cycling cap pulled down almost over his eyes. To see him so it seems more an untouchable criminal Mario Brothers. The next
are Cobra and Garrote, tattooed, with tight blue shirt that leaves open the butt of the gun, one right and one left. Take away any desire to be silly.
We smile too.
Good. A strange spasm
I stretch the gut, my stomach swings and a curious sensation pungent grips my ass.
But perhaps at this point, it is better that I explain why we are here.
How the hell we ended up in the ugliest place in the world at the mercy of a criminal as Mimmo and two giants who call themselves tattooed Cobra and Garrote. Over the beast snub that has remained to keep watch outside, of course.
The reason is the maniac.
And I know that it 'is what makes no sense.
I guess I have to explain it well, then.
Sit.
To get from Mimmo need to go to the railway bridge, turn right at the traffic light, make holes all the way and work in progress along the tracks, turn right again along the avenue of trans and then immediately left to squeeze in an industrial area so comfortable that if there is one from a slum in Nairobi but at least you say 'that shitty place!
the very bottom of this urban jewel is the body of Mimmo, a rectangular white and peeling, certainly abusive, pulled up between a dead engulfed by weeds and an abandoned warehouse with broken windows and faded lettering.
called Domenico Mimmo. E 'of Naples and Pozzuoli carrozzaio officially does, in fact.
E 'stocky, talkative and blowhard, but a little' we are the loyal. Youthful memories.
The team of the Centre, Mimmo played left wing. He played left wing and passed the ball because he was never convinced that he is strong, the heir of Maradona, according to him. On the other hand, just one of us had it at his feet, the fucking ball, you'll scream passes by, passes, passaaaa!, hateful as a horn. But above all
played left wing because it was a terrible great blowjob, and we unanimously decided that over there in that position a po'defilata, did little damage and his screams could be heard less annoying. What
then at each corner, there is a litle amateur stocky brawler and pain in the ass, screaming throughout the game convinced that football is a private matter between him and the ball and that usually turns out to be a cosmic broccaccio. Usually plays left wing, and is called the Neapolitan Domenico Mimmo said. Just as our carrozzaio.
Life, unfortunately, is a hair different from a football game. Why scream and never pass the ball, to be quarrelsome, and braggarts spaccaballe in the field almost always lose. But in life, well 'in life sometimes helps. Or at least helped Mimmo, this for sure.
Fifteen years ago, when not working in body shops, Mimmo played football with us or attend certain sinister turn in the square and behind the local market. He was a henchman of one or another drug dealer in the area. Robetta by little, normal things in the District, an easy way to make ends meet.
Then one day he decided to turn, harder to do the dribbling. Or is it or nothing.
He made the carcass, Mimmo. E ' went to the police and started to blurt out everything, absolutely everything.
names, hierarchies, trades, places of meeting of all gangs in the area. All.
They made us look great, the police. An impressive haul, a sure shot.
District cleared within three hours, not even the FBI had turned, with a lot of headlines in newspapers and promotions to rain.
Everything for the tip of Mimmo, all in one night. After
, Eric has been a sort of immunity. In exchange for his confession has become an infamous sort of untouchable by law enforcement. The award was given in the total monopoly on the illegal trafficking of the District and leave him alone today. It
so did a great goal. He put on his own, has suddenly become powerful, tolerated and protected.
now commands a band of those pieces of shit that the cleaner has the itch. People you trust, who does not think for a moment to plant a knife in the throat or smash your thumbs if sgarra a payment.
E 'rich, Mimmo, has become very rich, very quickly, certainly the richest in the district. That a few million I'll put away quickly if you control for the entire business of hookers, coca, theft and extortion.
Now Mimmo is a parallel power to that official, in the district.
most feared and efficient, in fact, than Journal. A very influential person, a real authority, no doubt. Everyone knows and is good to know, otherwise, in the district, you may be ugly.
And most of all we know, his former teammates. We know, and then licks a little 'the butt, now, that big rascal Mimmo. Then maybe that also makes us any favors if we need it.
As we hope will happen tonight.
the entrance to the industrial area of \u200b\u200bthe guards Eric has quite efficient, able to signal the entry into its territory and to categorize them as friends or enemies.
When we arrive in the yard of gravel surrounding the body, a great guy, and bald-faced pit bulls in a bad mood is already there waiting for us, standing, arms folded in front of the door is closed.
Be 'arms. I have that diameter of the wheels of the scooter.
shows us the back door by moving imperceptibly to the left eye. You probably can not talk, dowry, however useless and not required when you're a beast of two meters by two and you're in the band Mimmo. Fortunately that the watchman has cataloged us among your friends.
out of the car and continued our trip. When extension before the Beast get a move instinctively, feigning indifference.
The back door is an iron-red, is narrow, allowing the entry of a person at a time. Mimmo keeps us in these parts.
We go one at a time.
Mimmo is sitting at the bottom of the garage, in the twilight. Welcomes us with a provocative smile under his thick mustache blacks, the Gambotto stretched on a plank work. He has yet to be carrozzaio dungarees and cycling cap pulled down almost over his eyes. To see him so it seems more an untouchable criminal Mario Brothers. The next
are Cobra and Garrote, tattooed, with tight blue shirt that leaves open the butt of the gun, one right and one left. Take away any desire to be silly.
We smile too.
Good. A strange spasm
I stretch the gut, my stomach swings and a curious sensation pungent grips my ass.
But perhaps at this point, it is better that I explain why we are here.
How the hell we ended up in the ugliest place in the world at the mercy of a criminal as Mimmo and two giants who call themselves tattooed Cobra and Garrote. Over the beast snub that has remained to keep watch outside, of course.
The reason is the maniac.
And I know that it 'is what makes no sense.
I guess I have to explain it well, then.
Sit.
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