The taming of the scoundrel (Il Bisbetico domato) (№ 235969)

No, we don't know, I have to know each other better, to talk.
- Tell me if you want.
- So, I was born on a cold winter night, on the fourth day of August, nineteen hours, twenty minutes, that is, without forty-eight, here in this room. Downstairs, my mother walked nervously up and down up and down, Smoking a cigar. My mother was a tall man, blond hair, like my grandmother. And my grandfather, on the contrary, dark.