Al Palazzetto

The memories are so fresh as we held hands and danced with strangers in the middle of the piazza...holding tight to our bottle of Chianti; as the expensive Cognac rolled to some unknown location only to be found much later. I still have that legendary cork to remind me of the weekend...of all the fopishly dressed Italian boys as they tried to pick up foreign girls, of the boisterous, but cute Ali Baba screaming and shouting as he took big gulps from our bottle of wine...of Betty's 'I need a Man!' battle cry as Juan pulled a disappearing act. The face paint began to melt as soon as it was applied and I think for a moment we were happy, all of us...had no choice, we were there and it was good, and we could never go back to the past we had left behind only a week ago. Time moved slowly, almost lethargically while we were there. The nights were long. Venice was like a fire...and we all stepped through it. All of us got burned and intoxicated by that place and time, some of us irreversibly infected with the mysterious allure of it all. It is not something that I would soon forget. I've been there twice...and as they say, third time's the charm.