It’s a tourist thing, he grinned to himself, but what the hell? There actually are stars in the sky tonight, we can drink wine, and the canals really don’t seem to stink as Michael said they would. The guy propelling this thing has seen untold lovers clamber aboard his boat and he’s probably given them all pretty much the same patter about how beautiful the lady is and how her face shines in the light of his lantern–after all, he’s an Italian–and I still don’t care.