I Went To Jail For Beer
A cackling rooster call pierced the silence, followed by the sound of quiet laughter. We stood in a courtyard ringed by oppressively institutional gray buildings, and I swiveled my head nervously as a stiff breeze blew through Saluzzo. The giggly presence of two dozen young students had attracted some attention from the residents of this casa di reclusione. In less euphemistic, non-Italian terms, that would be a prison.