The days passed, cycling through the long jaw, rolling along a long tongue of grape vineyards. Nights after entering the valley in the alps, which rose on both sides of me like fangs to bite the sky, I Passed into the Dolomites, where the teeth dulled into molars. The mountains ended at the throat of Italy, where the long esophagus begins its span into the Meditterranean, the stomach of Europe. At first the lingering juices of Austria were prominnent, but they were soon absorbed into oblivion with the thick saliva and partially masticated cud of the heartland. Alps big. Italy Beautiful. Verona: home of Romeo and Juliet. Venice: not even the mad mobs of bloated wallet tourists can destroy...squeeze away down an alley, duck under an archway, over a bridge and you are alone with the
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