Treviso was still on “hard mode” wherein you have to avoid getting too drunk, or honked at, or sexually assaulted at the hand of any of the thousands of drunk Alpini.

It was mostly just a bunch of dads singing for one week straight and reminiscing about how they used to live in the mountains and wear little hats with feathers by living in the mountains and wearing little hats with feathers, or something. Everyone in Treviso was happy about it and Italian flags were everywhere, including our living room for some reason.

The party girls of Fabrica were at a party in a stone building, dancing to Beyonce with Alpini when one of them grabbed my ass. I turned around, looked him in the eye, and said “absolutamente no” and finished ordering my drink. As I was leaving I slapped his ass.



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