the sultry vixen has blisters from all her hoeing... in the garden, not to disappoint those hoping for a more demonstrative visual. So blisters on fingers, nothing contagious or requiring salve. By the by, should you catch yourself in the process of weeding, I highly reccommend dresden dolls for your training montage; the perfect metaphor tottering effortlessly between a naval marching band and dust bowl sideshow. You'll be having so much fun bending and plucking, you won't even notice your back break in half.A short stint amidst hay and weeds, and we head to the bus for Narni, our hot shower awaits, bless. And it was good... In fact I do not believe christiane is ever coming out. We drive through the hastening verdant countryside to Carsulae, and jump the fence to enter. As I shoot a few of Brittney using a reflector in an ancient church, a couple of reps from the achaeological society barge in; they've been peeking via video camera. Oddly, we don't get told off for fence jumping, just that we need to sign a document stating the never use of imagery for anything money garnering... Even though I was the camera clad pony, they had Germano do the honors, so as far as I'm concerned, these bitches are ripe for a nice magazine cover. Germano says jail in Italy is very nice anyway, and he could use the rest. The ruins themselves are epic in a singular way; they aren't butted up, like everything else I've seen in every big city from Rome to Paris, against anything new. They are surrounded by meadows and mountains, and one truly gets a sense of scope, of the environment as it might have been, only fractured and abandoned. We actually have a bloody picnic amid the columns. With the Umbrian wine. After a long, ambling afternoon, I am treated to a more modern Italian moment. A couple has picked this particular parking lot to fuck in. Being that the cars here are like little pinpricks with wheels, it's a rather yogic experience, I imagine. On the way back we discover first hand the ferocity of the Italian sheep dog, as one, deciding our presence on the road going 60 km was a threat, launched himself into the side of the car, and chased us 100 yards down the street. Apparently, when you happen among some sheep here in the country, on a leisurely walk perhaps, you fucking run away. Because the dog actually tried to eat our car. We are spending the night at brittneys watch tower, an actual medieval one mind you, straddling an arch above the via Flaminia. After a long wander in Narni, and some tourist priced pizza, we sleep. At least for now...
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