The Little Italy Festival: Balt Amore

Open scene on a jubilant celebration of Italian heritage on an unbearable early summer day in Baltimore, Maryland.

In a room heavily air-conditioned against the oppressive heat outdoors, we sat. And we drank. And we played bingo, presided over by an ancient crone named Rose. Later, I would have ravioli, and a cannoli, and would continue to drink.

Wandering the festive streets scorching in the afternoon sunshine we shenaniganed. There was no breeze from the inner harbour-- in the red-hot stifle of a Baltimore summer we retreated into an Italian neighborhood bar and drank Italian beer. Night fell, and there hazy recollections overtake sound judgement. Who was that boy you were making out with in the corner, Jen? Did Emily just make the bartender cry?

All that is clear is that we drank, heavily, and that it is unlikely that modesty will allow any member of our party from returning to said bar.