. . .Rosslare . . .
After dinner in a pub, Guinness stout is number one.The first sip coats
my mouth like rich whipped cream and I'm hooked. A singer twangs a tale
of unmet expectations - unhappiness in the entrapment we call love - Country
Rock from the USA. I return to the hostel late. It's not like the hotels
I used as a business man, where an invisible maid turned down the bedcovers
and put a chocolate on the pillow. Outside, I inhale the Irish night, chilled
by sea foam. My spine shudders at the beauty.