Sunday was perfect. It was sunny. Not too hot. Not too breezy. The streets of Baltimore’s Little Italy were crowded, but we were giddy as we handed over money and gorge on salad, garlic bread, pizza, fresh-squeezed lemonade. We were happy to wait in line for 20 minutes for fried dough, and shove that in our mouths as well.
And then we rolled ourselves out of the street fest and didn’t eat for a week.