Being paid bitches

[reflections]

The road has been long and really perilous, full of obstacles and so-called cocks and bouquets (which let’s face it, if it’s true as it is true that I was born princess and I became a chameleon, then I can also afford the turpiloquium). That, frankly, if I had known before maybe I would have been more cautious, or as you love to say today, more assertive, which basically means more bitch.

On the way I left a lot of people, but just so much, impossible to make the full list, but I could try, sure as they are that none of them will ever read and anyway, honor to weapons, that since I think they were more assholes than me, it is right that they also have their own quote in a blog first abandoned and then still unknown.

Among the men I left Il Carro; I also told him that I was in love and yet he continued to want from me only a sexual relationship and as much as I can recommend it from that point of view, since he was really good, for the rest he was a distrustful man, who always feared to be framed by someone (he had a client of the study, a seller of something, a secretary or a woman), still obsessed by his wife (whose I couldn't stay in love anymore in a relationship like this, so I hit the door and left. For a while he tried on the phone, then went to Federica to ask for a mediation that I didn’t accept because it was all I wanted and if I didn’t get it then I didn’t want anything. I wasn't satisfied anymore. On the other hand, if you are in love, how do you settle?

After a few months, I’m called to say that there was an account to pay at your office. I remember that at that moment I was in the Piazzale del Santo, I looked at the facade and I said no, I don't pay you. To which he replied that it was not him that I had to pay well his assistant who had done a job that otherwise should have paid him. I then, always looking at the facade of the church, answered him like this:

"First of all I don't care who you have to pay, if I come to your office I have to pay you and not your assistant. Secondly, I don’t have the money, so even if I wish I could not pay you, thirdly if you claim that I pay you then you pay me, for the advices I made you for the management of that escaping citizenship of your son, for the site, for the project I wrote you, for the millions of times in which I helped you with the study and for the fact that you threatened me to denounce me because I was writing of you in my Finally, if you don't leave me alone, I'll go to your partner, and bitch, I'll tell her a couple of things that concern you. Besides, I have to tell you, I want you to pay all the sex you have done with me, because we can well say that one like me around does not find it and because in our relationship this is what you were interested, I repeat – bitch for bitch – we can quantify and pay me. "

I looked at the facade of the Saint, sure that I was not in such a sacred place since on my left he found the statue of the Gattamelata armed on horseback, and if he had managed to convince the friars that a military statue was fine on the sacred square, then I could well fuck Il Carro and his claims, even threatening him. I must say that the Saint has placed a benevolent hand on my head, he has strongly pushed my words into the ether from mobile phone to mobile phone and has given up a powerful slap on the face of the Carro, which, remained attonished and speechless, maybe he greeted me and however closed the communication without questioning.

And I turned off the call, I put the phone in my pocket, I looked at the facade and made a slight hint with the head to the Saint, I understand that being bitches sometimes pay, in the sense that I didn’t have to pull out something like a thousand euros (or maybe more, I don’t remember and it’s still a detail), I fired my bike from the middle of the square and pedaled against the law that forbids it to leave the square.

It was not easy but it was saving.

I didn’t hear it any more: who knows, what if he died in the meantime?

A poem for him, to remind me that I tried, oh if I tried! poetry for a man who escapes