Dear Ypsini , stews are not gone, but the short sleep is over, now is the time for reflection, you would elsewhere read at once, or rather, just something you read elsewhere on Ypsi 2010.
Now, calmly, and here we will tell all.
Ypsi and love
Dear Ypsini ,
Day August 2, 2010. Missing three days Ypsigrock Festival 2010. The turning point. Lack of support rods 18 also under the stage. Things you probably should not know. Among a blasphemy and the other (hey rock'n'roll is) I look straight at Antonello. Vito. Salcazzo what is his real name, I was about to find out later by his wife, the Queen of Sheba, but the sweet queen has decided to keep the mystery, drowning in yet another beer at eight in the morning in San Foca. To be honest there are still all the pretty faces that make up the picture. Vito is a master at keeping the peace: red eyes, still wet, the voice is like a long groan, and finally only occasionally seems to lose the rhythm - so GRRRRRRRR her back, but with stuff like the carets above - Sant'Anna is there is no need to raise my voice. Vito gets the moments at San Foca each year, all there to hang from his bullshit, but you really do not know what you are all on his shoulders, for small. The thing that makes you stay dry all this is that it does not even know him. Are 14.30 and Monday, the sun will never know what it is far from Piazza Castello at that time. That's when I fired the first and Antonello about it for next year: never Ypsigrock. Hey folks, anyone who has never said this sentence has nothing to tell about Ypsi. Sure it has not nothing to tell and that's it. Mario is missing, as a good soldier is on a mission to glean at least something to go on. It turns out that the rods have somewhere to hold up tomatoes, I remain perplexed given the small local production of these valuable vegetables. It goes on for a while with a pair of tongs that chews a bit ', a key one for 17 and 22. After all three of us do not need anything else. Bent over a damn pin that can not bring himself to abandon his old seat, the sweat begins to fall down. The heat just does not let up, the front bar is across the trench, the shop will only open at 16.30. A drop is detached from the nose, is shattered by the metal stand that holds me, 17, and a pair of tubes "Innoccenti. Innocent and yet they were involved in. The drop breaks out and disappears in a flash. I fucking bastard. At the end of the stage to the seven has its own form. I believe in form, form is important. Take Celine, take discussions with Professor Y. It is with the shape the guy was forced to surrender, to pee on him. Ok, I told you, but all three of you who read this ever read Conversations with Professor Y? Meanwhile, the staff arrives, climb, descend, they think. Vito and I are in the sixth beer, Mario is no longer with us than with them. Morale is high, tomorrow they will reach the houses, beer, people, faces. If time remains to assemble the words, but what should be done at two that there is no one, not even ours. The bastards.