I'll be at my local

down to the KLM on paddy's day afternoon. it is a small pub just up the road from roy and finn's place, small and exclusive, although not because the barman says so. the regulars keep to themselves and to the people they know. they'll ask you questions if you come in, show you some kindness and perhaps even buy you a pint.

'be careful not to confuse apparent act of kindness and acceptance. there's a good chance that what you think is irish hospitality is actually them being nosey.'

this place is their's and every head will turn, and every eye stare, if no one recognizes what comes through the door.

'you'd better either know someone in there, or have some reason for going in or you'll not last long.'

we had made these plans with finn and roy nearly three weeks ago, and terry, another roommate, was to come along too. instead of coming along he was already there. finn showed up hours later when the three of us were heavy into a game of pool. it was a professional table and several thousands of euro's, or so i am told, have traded hands because of it. the bar was small and the table appeared to have been made to fit, not six feet long nor three feet wide, however, much like wonka's perception hallway the table did not look too small. it fit the room and occupied exactly as much of the area as it wanted. and as much as it fit the room, it fit the atmosphere of the crowd too: if it didn't want you to play well it wouldn't.
the barman sat on a stool, reading his paper and served drink when necessary. nothing was rushed, nothing was a bother and no one liked the temporary clover tattoo on my forehead; luckily i had brian with me, and luckily his parents were two of the four regulars there.

'wazat? u a toorist? silly yank'
'actually i'm a cana..'
'shur, shur. youwanapint?'
'ah, yeah sure. thank you'
'great then. Bill! what's in the news today? finefine, two hoinikin, when yer ready. hes payin.'
'thanks'