__ ___ __

I went to Wexford, late April 2006. I'd had to get out of town.

Kim had just told me that she'd found her new boyfriend — which was no surprise to me but no less painful for that.

I'd had to stop seeing her for about six weeks, and it was a no-brainer that she'd find the next fella during that time. Why else, indeed, had she abused me so rigorously for the two months before that?

Ancient history, now. But in late April 2006, it was fresh news.

The "breakup," if you'd call it that — we'd been through this type of thing repeatedly, serially, for two years of separating in gruesome, excruciating slow motion — came on a Friday, and I'd been planning anyhow to go see Wexford that weekend.

Why Wexford? I hadn't been there. It's virtually a neighbor of Kilkenny. I'd heard good about it; it's not far away — the decision was not complex. I needed out of town.