Koala E-Book

Romano Lenzi

• Herausgeber: Romano Lenzi
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

In a own key, and contrary to what you'd expect, especially Koala speaks of change.How things change, how people change, the change is there, as well as what never will be.Love and hate, wealth and poverty, life and death, light and darkness ...So take the protagonist of Koala, Diego, young, cheeky and penniless, and his life-changing, economically, emotionally, morally.And take Mery, his ex-girlfriend which he is still madly in love with her hunger for life, and take Johnny and his guitar, and put them together, and watch their quick rise to popularity, so similar to such a descent hell.And go ahead and take the sinister maneuvers of a group of people who, between politics and industry, are organizing a crime of the most sinister.Diego becomes aware and tries to stop it all.It almost succeeds, even if it risks losing his life.And in one fell swoop lost love, friendship and trust.Then he met Katia and the decision to take a trip around the world.And all finished and everything finally seems here we go again, here we go again to feel good and feel bad.From Livorno unfolds an adventure that has for background the exploitation and hunger, and no regard for human life.In Africa proud as a desperate, Diego finally meets the meaning of his life and that kind of feelings in him that he considered impossible.He will fight with all his strength against an epidemic of Leihsmaniosi and against the pharmaceutical companies and their desire no longer to produce the necessary medicines, against a tangle of interests where the voice is less important than human life.The unexpected connections with his past will push him to shuttle between Europe, Asia and Africa in a race against time.Fight and his victory will have a very high price and will still be linked to an awareness that it is only a battle won in an eternal war.For some things that change, other things will never change.Although the teaching received by the huge eyes of a black child ill with a disease which, in distant Italy, almost all do not even know the name of it, hence the title "Koala", by Katia and Dr. Rosselli however, is that we must there, is that you must always try, at all costs.Koala must be read on many levels for so it is written. Much more than an adventure novel, well over a yellow, a book that can not leave us indifferent.

Leseprobe

Koala

Romano Lenzi

published: 2013

Koala

Table of contents

Romano Lenzi

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Epilogue

Romano Lenzi

Romano Lenzi was born in Livorno, on a far awayday in October.Ended the working career Romano Lenzi published his firstcollection of shortstories, entitled “Piccolestorie di uomini”. The book getsdiscreteawards and  acknowledgments .Two years later  (2005) he released his first Thriller Book “Effetto Venezia” (Statale 11 Ed.) , setinthe namesake neighborhood ofLivorno. With this book theauthor perceives thefirst signsof success. But it is withKoalain 2007 that RomanoLenzibecomesknown to awider audience.This famepushes him totranslate the textinto English. InNovember 2009he moved with hisfamily toPerugiawhere he presentedhis lasthis book "Due Vite"(DelBucchiaEd.). Finally, inDecember 2012, in the splendidsettingof the “Salone dei Cinquecento”atPalazzo Vecchioin Florence,his play“Il Gabbiano”, gets thebronzemedal in theXXXInternational Competition, organized by the CentroCulturale Firenze-Europa Mario Conti

Part I

I look at myself inthe mirror as I blow-dry my hair. Distractedly I consult my watch; I’m supposed to be at work in lessthan  a half-hour.  Work! Actually there isn’t much work to speak of in that dump called a“bar”.  The clientele dwindles by theday.  This is  mostly the fault of the stingy owner who refuses to shell out for even minorrepairs and also because of the dirt that increases in ratio to the dwindlingclientele.I check my watchagain and see that I will, in all probability, be late once again.  Through the open bed-room door I can see theunmade bed, still dented in the shape of Mary’s body.  I think of Mary.  Mary is beautiful; a Mediterranean  typebut spoiled and capricious as only a twenty-year-old can be.  Today she wants to be a singer; last week itwas a dancer and the week before that it was an actress.  But why should I care, as long as it’s me she goes to bed with.I calculate I’ll beabout a half-hour late.  With a lastglance in the mirror, I adjust my tie and, whistling, I leave  the apartment.  Life is grand.It’s a beautifulday, the sea breeze is inviting and since my dear old Fiat “Punto” is about toexpire, I decide to walk towards my one and only source of income.I’m late, it’strue, but I can’t refrain from turning around from time to time in order tothoroughly check out a few of those tasty “dishes” for which my town is famous.When I finallyarrive at work, I am struck once again by how squalid the place is.  The bar is located in the older part of townthat had seen better days, and has deteriorated further since several factorieslocated nearby fled to more promising sites. The zone is nicknamed “stringistringi” (squeeze, squeeze) because of the reduction in surface area appliedduring the Fascist era in order to increase favorable votes.  A homeless man is sorting through a dumpster;two men are unloading crates of fruit and vegetables from a double-parked deliveryvan. I hop over a bag of garbage, manage to narrowly avoid a typical ass-holeon a motor scooter travelling in the wrong direction down the one-way  street, take a deep breath, and, stillwhistling, enter what is familiarly called the “Trash Bar”.I immediately graspthat this is not a good day.  Theowner/slave-driver frowns at me, looks at his watch and I take the hint.  “Sorry I’m a little late”, I say, trying tosound innocent and remorseful.“A little late?”,replies the parrot-like slave-driver.“Five minutes”, Iinsist, looking the other way.“Three-quarters ofan hour”, he says.  “Yesterday, anhour.  An hour the day before that, twohours last Monday. . . “Man! I gather thathe’s really pissed.  So I remain silentas I take off my jacket and start to put on the once-white, greasy apron.“Put your jacketback on and leave.  You’re fired.”I stare at hisfrowning face.  I’d gladly punch hisclock, if it weren’t for his six feet in height and 250 lbs. of flabby flesh.“Go fuck yourself”,I say instead.  “You don’t realize whatyou’re throwing away”.  I watch as hiseye-brows slowly rise and I add  “Give memy severance pay and I’m out of this pigsty immediately.”“Stop in nextweek”, the slaver replies, distractedly swatting at a fly that has courageouslyalit on the sandwiches.  The guy has notbecome aware of the invention of Saran Wrap. Then again, maybe he has, and also that it costs money.“If I leave hereempty-handed, I’m going straight to the Department of Labour”.The ass-hole snortsderisively, a vein in his neck swells ominously, and I prepare to scram.  Instead, he pulls out a check-book and startsto write.“In cash,” I bark.Before leaving Itake a last look around.  I see theancient coffee machine, the bench I sat on numerous times while day-dreaming, acob-web in a far corner that I had planned to remove this very day.  I sniff loudly, straighten my shoulders andlet out a liberating “FUCK YOU!”  With anaccompanying gesture that involves my middle finger, I finally make my exit.Now the day seemsdecidedly worse and my head is filled with thunder and lightning; I blink a fewtimes.Shit.  Now I’ll have to start over.  I don’t feel like walking anymore, .I don’tfeel like whistling either and I certainly don’t feel like going home.I don’t wantanything.A store windowreflects the image of a guy with a melancholy expression.  I pass a hand through my still-damp hair andI keep walking.  Shit-ass of aslave-driver!“Ciao, Diego.”  At the sound of  this particular voice, my stomach sinks.  Right. This is just what I need.“Ciao”.“What are you doinghere?” she asks.  I” feel like a storm isabout to erupt as she continues, “you aren’t at work?”What do I tellher?  I avoid her eyes, I stare at herchest, I think back to how wonderful it all was just a few hours ago, then Ihug her to me tightly and whisper in her ear, “Fired.”I feel herstiffen.  She remains immobile for amoment, then moves back and looks up at me. She starts to open and close her mouth like a carp out of water.  From her black eyes sparks fly and from hermouth gushes forth a river of words. Those thunderclaps inside my head are increasing and the storm that hasbeen coming now explodes in all its fury.“You’re worthless,”she says quietly.  She tries to slap mebut I duck.  “A failure . . . agood-for-nothing . . .