Posted by Ignazio on 6/19/2007, 11:30 am “La mia stella sta aumentando, il mio tempo è ora.” The deep voice of Dominic Ignazio filled the backstage. He cocked his head to the left and let his eyes wander around his backstage dressing room. The Dean Smith Center didn’t provide for large backstage accommodations; the University of North Carolina was obviously oblivious to the fact that Dominic Ignazio would be gracing its arena with his presence. Disgusted, he paced around in his jeans and black wife beater, occasionally stroking his perfectly jelled hair. Once we’re gone, who’s gonna care With a look of disgust still on his face, Dominic reached into his pocket and removed a green and white pack of New Port cigarettes. He moved his hand over the package and opened it slowly, savoring the aroma it released. He dipped his hand into the box and removed two, placing one behind the white headband that surrounded his spiky head and one between his lips. He lit the one in his mouth and took and long pull, savoring the flavor. He exhaled the smoke from his nose slowly, and let it cascade down his tan skin. He was startled by another voice in the room. ”Quella merda sta andando ucciderla.” Dominic spun around to see the squat figure of his father in the doorway. He was about 5’5’’, seven inches shorter then his broad shouldered son. “Yeah, this is going to kill me, thanks for the heads up.” He took another long drag and let the smoke float from his mouth. His father, looking displeased, made his way to the corner of the room and sat himself in a chair that was propped against the wall. “Listen you know what you came to this company to do, and I’ll be damned if you bail and let some of this publicity go to your head. I’ll be the first to cut you down to size.” Dominic ignored it and continued to breath the cigarette in. “Listen, the Rising Star title is going to be around my waist in good time. Do you see this body? Do you see this face? They would have to be mentally ill not to put the belt on me and give me a fair shot at it. It’s called patience old man, learn some, you’ve never had any before.” “Tutti in tempo utile, all in good time, all in good time.” Well, winter’s gonna end,
68.192.180.229
Did you expect it all to stop
At the wave of your hand?
Like the sun’s just gonna drop,
If it’s night, you demand.
If we were ever here at all?
Well, summer’s gonna come.
It’s gonna cloud our eyes again.
Nothing left worth seeing.
So we trade for liquor for blood,
In an attempt to tip the scales.
I think you lost what you loved
In that mess of details.
I’m gonna clean these veins again.
So close to dying that I finally can start living.
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