If there is a luxury not to have brothers and a room all to himself, then that was the adventure world beyond the four walls ready to receive it soon came to the door painted white on which hung the bear piece, such as hanging, but vigilant guardian of his stuff, too confident, sometimes shiny plastic-looking supervisor who is also discernible in the dark of the night lit by the lights of the little road that looked hot in that summer that forced him to leave open the windows to let in a little 'fresh accompanied by strange noises that brought the streets around with impetuous or discrete items to stop and follow your dreams, turning the steering course, shaking, providing arguments for scenes of disarming simplicity and surreal stories, such as rapid filmeschi clashes Indian on horseback along bright expanses of dry powder in the mountains of red rock and sunset handful of wooden houses crossed by dirt roads , a few cows, the saloon with its doors still creak as they move through outside, inside the room are perceived many people dancing to the music of the corner bar, a pianist, a number of maidens from clothes rustling and swollen, tables poker players, patrons at the bar drinking the amber liquid that forms a dirty red sun in the raw glass and opaque, with the usual rapidly clean rag that the man behind the counter keeps leaning on the forearm and also used to swat flies and to wipe the sweat from his neck because it is a hot summer, however hot it is or not, but no decision nor fear, with a leap at the foot of land the stranger on the stairs between the street and consumed wood and flying hours still and laying his hands upon them and encourage them to come accompanied by the horizontal light of the sun that dies more and more, once inside, hesitates to show herself, advancing slowly and decided two steps after two rhythmic steps from the heavy-heeled boots along the boards a little creaky board and leading the counter at the bottom of the tables where the gunmen are sitting silent and watch him, even quelli di spalle girano la testa per vedere chi è colui che da quelle parti forse non ha messo mai piede, ma la cui faccia tutti hanno vista appesa nell’ufficio dello sceriffo con sotto una cifra dai tanti zeri, ed i passi da due si fanno quattro per diventare cinque e poi fermarsi perché il banco è a portata di gomiti, si toglie dalla testa il cappello dalla larga tesa, lo appoggia rovescio per fargli prendere aria ed asciugarne i bordi scuri intrisi di sudore, il tutto sempre in un silenzio irreale interrotto dal solo cigolio dei battenti che continuano ad oscillare ogni tanto al suono del nuovo tram che viene da fuori attraverso la finestra aperta: “il solito”, come il solito se mai era stato lì dentro? Ma è la frase giusta da dire in un posto come questo ed il barista, che deve averne viste lui, non si scompiglia e piglia scegliendolo con cura un bicchiere ancora bagnato con la testa all’ingiù fra gli altri bicchieri tutti uguali, lo asciuga col solito straccio formando più aloni che altro e lo pone sotto lo sguardo di lui che punta verso il basso perché si può permettere di badare a se stesso senza paura di chiunque possa mai stare lì dentro, dalla bottiglia ambrata, quasi vuota, tutto il liquido si ritrova in quel bicchiere: “non è giornata per bere quest’alcol dal sapore di piscio, aprine una nuova, questo ti può convincere” e tiene fra l’indice ed il medio una moneta comparsa dal nulla, magico prestigiatore, with a flick of the fingers and the metal disc jumps, falls and rolls on the counter, the first strong and then lost the gait of a drunk, to stop standing like a miracle, and the silence, it seems impossible, it becomes even stronger because the money seems to have blocked so still time too, but only for a moment and it disappears in the hands of the bartender who has already taken to open a new bottle with a familiar trained and pouring another glass spreads the smell of that strong liquid, use a sit closed and free time to go riding on the heavy air and kidnapped a little from the nostrils of the stranger who takes the glass with both hands and throws down all in one go like a bowl of milk in the morning when mom cooked breakfast, biscuits and jam, then turns back and rests his elbows on the counter to look straight in the face the man who came to find later on that afternoon, but the sun has finally gone into hiding behind the hill and everything becomes dark lit by a few simple light already on the walls and on the table without any method, on the other side of the room is called up as a man who only now comes into the picture, he slides his chair back with the sound of a door that closes some buildings away, keeps his hands resting on two pistols shimmering with calcium in pearl along the belt surrounded by thick and heavy bullets which are hung a wreath to indicate that he is the king of the wasteland and sanzadio, a move by the stranger: "Versan other two, but the bartender, magician too, there's no trace and are all but gone those two, including dancers, however, that a piece is not dancing anymore, so the piano does not make more music because the corner bar closed, then the foreigner takes the bottle and two glasses and other slow moving close to the king, these approaches him well, only a table between them, both sit down, the bottle is placed in the middle and the two glasses in hand and filled to the brim and beyond with no grace with a single movement from one to another, forming between them a trail of alcohol dark across the table he used to drink well, there is a deck of cards, the stranger takes it and mixes, King loosens its grip on guns, and took her glass careful not to drip dirty that if he does not want to be clean because it cleans those dirty, my mother always says, and the stranger divides the deck exactly in half and one of them offers the other because the most important game of the early rubamazzo that the west has never even seen the movies, a game that lasts an eternity, with ups and downs, moved by the fate of the unknown cards, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead and neck of both and also on the pillow, but the focus does not stop because the game is never exciting, the stranger, the king and the bear stuffed it difficult to react quickly to the cards you turn in the middle and are made by either to be put below, the stranger, his deck is numbered as the last shots Indians meet again in the valley or the soldiers still intact under the bed, the king's mind that recalls the buffalo herds that migrate as many fans that go to stage on the Sunday this year, maybe we win the championship, but unexpectedly the luck turns and paper after paper check to the stranger's smile to win because who knows his days at the end of the league are few and many i punti di distacco, così la partita si chiude, il re si alza sconfitto, prende bicchieri e bottiglia andando al banco per riporli, qui trova lo straccio, ripercorre i suoi passi, pulisce il tavolo così mamma non si arrabbia, poi s’avvia fuori: “anche questa volta non ti metto dentro, ma chissà , forse fra un anno vinco io” cigolano di nuovo i battenti, è l’ultimo tram della notte ormai giorno, come il giorno è arrivato nella valle, il re si ritrova il solito straccio con cui lustra la stella al petto luccicante al nuovo sole di quell’estate calda.
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