At night-time the mountains are at their most dominating. Their solid silhouettes against the purple light make the sky look torn in half. We're not far from the Swiss border, and as we drive through the next village on our way to a bar, every building has a distinct Alpine look.
The bar is small and the crowd is regular. The obsession with table football was not unique to Belgioioso. All night, Giulia's friends cower over the football table like giant insects, flicking manically at the bars. If I lose a game but have scored at least one goal (needless to say I never win a game against these lot, so I consider this a good result), I needn't undergo the ritual punishment of crawling under the table. Closing time comes as a great relief.
To my misfortune, closing time turns out to mean a lock-in, and the humiliation continues late into the night.
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