As I mentioned yesterday, the Sacred Cow hit with his curse us infidels who had dared to make us a steak in a land consecrated to her.
Fellow krukko also vomited tortellini that had eaten for confirmation, then, as I mentioned, the hotel's doctor put him to bed with an IV. After an hour or so and went back to see what happened: I breathed in the meantime like I just did the hundred meters, I was coughing like a consumptive and bitterly cold (27 degrees with out one in the morning). Then I took the opportunity to make me look even I, even if the red dot on his forehead and the fact that agreement was with the hotel made it freak me, I have to say is wrong, unworthy of trust.
"You got some kind of virus," was the verdict. The cure: three pasticcone, luckily they were not supposed to be taken immediately and the other one every 12 hours. Pillolona taken, it is as if I'd taken a punch in the head by Bud Spencer fell asleep and woke up suddenly wake up call from the hotel the next morning, stoned like a snake but not colder and with breathing much freer, even if I hurt everywhere, as if Bud Spencer punch in the head after he had finished crushing.
A couple of hours ago, I took the last three and are substantially revived, apart from the pain all over the world who do not hint to leave, but are slowly improving. What was the
pasticcone, is unknown because it was written in one box only in Hindi, which is very strange ... Maybe it was some remedy freak, maybe it was an antibiotic for veterinary use ... Or maybe the Sacred Cow, who knows, I have forgiven him.
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