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wall.

Antonio's life like a rushing river in the dry.
"Maybe now I shave." she said to herself in the mirror. "The weather is gray. For the revolution is not the right atmosphere. Better wait for the hail and get a good coffee." He put the kitchen, made a cup of mocha, the only one he possessed, and set it on fire. "How sad, though. I would love to prepare a two cups. It would mean having someone to share it with coffee. Sooner or later it will happen and will happen when I am sure that after a couple of days, I complain. The company I Like if it lasts long enough for a coffee. " Meanwhile the coffee maker did his duty and the studio, with facilities and panoramic motorway junction, was invaded by the aroma that emanated. Antonio took his coffee while chopping a couple of servings of apple pie and, refusing to shave, with the bag containing the equipment for tennis thrown over his shoulders, opened the door and went out. Riding the reached his bike in five minutes, the tennis club where he began taking a ball to warm up a wall. After about half an hour of furious blows the wall began to show some discomfort return the ball contrary to the most basic laws of physics and geometry. Angles absurd, incredible effects, devastating violence rejected. Antonio tried desperately to respond blow for blow but the wall was very good in replying. The ball reached the crossroads of the bottom line with a speed and precision worthy of a champion, forcing him to run like crazy across the field, until, taking a sudden, baffling, insidious effect went to arrest just below the line white to simulate the network. It was at this point that Anthony, upset, he saw the wry smile appeared on the wall. With the eyes out of your head and tongue hanging out, he saw two hands equipped with rackets huge tick cement and two other arms that made him the umbrella gesture. Soon after he left a flurry of colored balls which struck him knocking him to the ground. Before he could get up the two big hands and let go snowshoeing in a while they dug a big hole in the clay and, after hitting him repeatedly on his bald head with a Head of titanium, there threw him burying it with care. Everything went quiet and the wall with the wall, but quickly became a sign, red on green background, in red letters that was not there before: FIN THAT'S 'LIFE'S' HOPE. And 'When you die COCKS ARE BITTER!