He felt the yelled his name loudly in the ears bounced like a pebble in the almost dry bed of a river. Anyone in the family, recognizing from afar the nose of his car - everyone knew how to give the roar of the motor car belonging to Stephen. (And had such an inordinate love, almost obsession, for that car, which used it for every single movement - so much that anyone, willy-nilly, had stored in every nuance, even the smallest and invisible)
The voices of all those human beings had the same effect of applause for a tenor. Heady, circulated in my veins like caffeine - and it had the same result of (toxic) dependence. And, among all, particularly the voice rang his brother Dante. His name - or, rather, the first syllable of his name, with an emphasis on voice - uttered by him shone in the midst of this chaos. Like a silver bullet never used in the middle of a thousand soiled with blood caked.
"Welcome back!"
He felt wonderfully at home.
"I feel good."
'You're not bad. "
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