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Racism stories in Italy: the dog

I am the dog, now.
The dog of the failure caress.
I am the one who saw everything and, unlike you, free to drop the stolen blood, I feel all weight on my back.
It's my fault.
I make it mine.
Indeed, if I had not been there, the man would not have violated the border.
For a dog’s pet.
And if people die for such a fleeting contact with equally insignificant creatures, you know how does obsession for distances is vain?
Between us?

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