Dinner in Venice, several days, maybe even a week after that one in Miralaghi. Tuna salad (with green beans this time), green (and red) salad, bread with the last of the Miralaghi olive oil, and Prosecco (consumed mostly by Lexi, since she was the only one who really liked it). My four words for the day: New town, same dinner. That’s not a complaint: I love it and could eat it every day. Same pile pullover, too, but that’s a whole ‘nother story. That’s also not a complaint. There’s no complaining here at all.