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Kilkenny Ireland, March 2002 —
It's Saturday, the day before St. Patrick's Day. Had a bit of a wild one last evening, emotionally. Drinking
and smoking with the lads. Dig this.
I didn't eat lunch; I had set out for an ATM, as it
was payday & the money is lodged directly to my
account. I hadn't eaten breakfast 'cause I hadn't had
the money. I ran into Liana, a beautiful woman friend of mine, on High Street. We stood talking for a while.
I suggested we walk toward the store where she was
going. She suggested coffee. That was nice, but that meant that I ended up having
coffee for lunch. Actually, it was really nice; I like
Liana very much, and she likes me. It's rather sweet,
really. It's too bad we're separated by her boyfriend disability. Or is it?
Didn't eat lunch; After work I went to Dunnes to shop.
After checkout, I saw one of the most beautiful women
I've ever seen. And I don't mean that lightly — she was
absolutely stunning, soft beautiful body and face. She
stood near the end of checkout with an infant in a
stroller. I decided to go to the "off-license" and
pick up some Guinnesses — because I'd have to pass by
her to go that way.
And I tortured myself, for the last couple of minutes
in that line. I have to go talk to her. There's no way
I walk out of here with dignity unless I say
something. When I went out, she was talking to some
woman who'd come up to her.
Outside, I ran into Fabio and Lena, my "expat
traveler" friends. I told them about it, and we stood
at the windows overlooking the shopping floor, looking
for her. She was gone. Chatted with these two — gave
Lena a can of beer and popped one for myself. That's
how that began. We went back to my pad and chatted for
a while. Very neat folk. Smoked a number.
I cooled it for a while after they left — I mean after
I drank the rest of the four Guinness & smoked more.
sent Justin a text message; in a few hours he sent
back that he was at Syd's. I crossed the street and
had some beer in the pool room there.
When Syd's closed and we were the last ones out,
around 1:30, the lads wanted to go to the Venue. I've
mentioned how I feel about the late clubs — hate 'em. The only pleasure for me there last night was the
female bodies rubbing drunkenly against me on the way
in and up to the bar, and over to where we sit.
Anyhow.
Sitting at the slightly-raised seating area on the far
side, I was drinking a beer, smoking some cigarettes,
talking to Gary. A woman standing down below gave the
international sign for "do you have a lighter." I went
for one in my pocket, but saw one on the table, and
handed it to her. She lit her cigarette, and kept the
lighter. I thought I saw her stick it in her cigarette
pack. I asked her about it and she ignored me. I was
not going to let it pass.
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Talking about it later
...I had an intuitive moment. I felt that if I showed any doubt on the matter, that I would be supporting the whole wrong side of the story. I said nothing. Gillian asked me if I'm proud of myself. I said "proud enough." And she started to sit a little bit closer to me. Don't ask me, boys....
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My friends, who'd been coaching me back since the beginning, when I'd first become confrontational, finally convinced me to go back, sit down. "Don't tell me to fuck off; it's me — Molly" said. I knew that; I wasn't blacking out — but that helped bring me down a bit.
Okay. Okay. Fine. So, then, this other hag walks up to me, stands over me, facing me. She's just asking that I apologize for pushing her friend down. She was being very nice about it.
I said to Gary "Tell everybody I left because I'm not going to argue with this bitch," and I went home.
Stupid fuckers. I enjoyed it. Hindsight, I would've tempered the adrenaline flow a bit — but I didn't have hindsight at the time, did I? Oh well. Never saw the lighter again.
Haven't talked to my buds since then, but sent texts to Molly, Justin, Gary, and Eddie last night. Molly sent back, said we'll meet St. Paddy's Day. I'll see Justin today. Be interesting to hear their perspective.
Anyhow I thought that was a neat bit of adventure. Well, now, It's not the kind of story I'd like to be telling, but it's the one that happened.
— From an email, 16 March 2002
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