Yesterday, I was told that if I headed out the Porta Della Ponte, crossed the street and the railroad tracks, passed under the freeway and kept going, I would reach the banks of the Tiber River. What I found was that pavement gave way to a gravel road, which became more and more rutted and eventually became a dirt road which did indeed go all the way to the edge of the Tiber. Along the way, I left behind the suburban homes to pass crumbling country estates, and then a couple of gritty rural shacks overrun with chickens and a pack of small, red, scruffy dogs. Surrounded by corn and tobacco fields, I was rescued from a full-blown case of the creeps by a couple of songs from Tom Brosseau's album "Grand Forks."
At dinner, my friends and classmates Alex, Justin and Simon hosted a dinner presentation on the herbal remedies industry, providing us with a multi-sensory experience. During dessert, they were extolling a few of the less obvious virtues of chocolate, and I made a snarky comment to Bill, seated next to me. "Nothing says let's get it on like the end of diarrhea."
Bill and I laughed ourselves sick.