It 's almost a month since I opened this little space of thought, which has little discussion and even more of a personal diary. It 'obvious that they are their child of our times, and I can only write in a post like this for entrusting me something rather than take a pen and paper and start a "diary" real, like that of so many years ago still closed somewhere remote in a box full of dust. He was always in the afternoon when I perched on a chair and a half route table for pending write with words already large (as much rhetoric) my impressions of the child, then unfit to live his childhood just like now to live my adult life. . but that's another story.
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