Leaving The Hill

You've got to leave, ultimately. They always make you leave.

The Bastids.

We were planning to stay on The Hill for another day or so but the Hill People shut themselves down -- boy did they shut themselves down -- for their 3-day Columbus-Fest, and we had to check out, so we said good-bye to the still-empy DePasquale Plaza . . .

Still-empty but now also rain-soaked

. . . we packed up our loot . . .

 . . . as discussed . . . 

. . . and made a couple of trips down to the car, once we got it out of hock . . .

Federal Hill coolers-of-love and boxes-of-love

While I was packing up said magical market loot, I couldn't help but notice that one of the containers was still warm . . .

. . . this one, in front: gorgonzola pasta, rich and creamy and to die for, and still warm . . .

And I also couldn't help but notice there was an open bottle of wine in that wine box . . .

What's a girl to do when left alone to pack the loot? I'll tell you what a girl is to do. A girl is to have a snack and a glass of wine to help her pack, and to help her to prepare for re-entry into a frightful world without warm gorgonzola pasta and wine before noon.

A frightful world without warm gorgonzola pasta and wine before noon, where it is pouring out, and one has no rain-gear . . .

Warm gorgonzola pasta and wine before noon? Inspiring.