He appeared in the exotic customs of Romania’s Gypsies, in the face of a drunken mad man and in the wet shine of fresh blood spilled across white marble steps at the Golden Crown.
La Grave locals regard any publicity as a catastrophe. Bill tells me the best thing that could happen to La Grave is for the road to be blocked by an avalanche. It is Roberto, however, who cuts to the chase. “So what’s your angle,” he inquires. “More of that it’s so great, it’s so rad, you have to ski it to believe it…..shit?”
“You ought to write about the woman who ate it in Tre Fete this morning.” Bill suggests.