Border Blues in Green

It's a café in Monaghan Town, the snow falling thickly in the street outside—I didn't know it snowed in the Isles, but there you are—and over by the dart board they're arguing. Just by my accent, I nominate myself to adjudicate their dispute; I'm from 'away', they can tell; I can safely be counted upon to be neutral to their passions, too ignorant of what's important to have a preformed opinion, too guileless to give offense—and yet, give offense I must, to at least one of them.

Then my companion returns bearing coffee and scones (one of those mixed blessings that crossed the little sea), a guardian angel who chases the serpents away from the naked innocent with his flaming Jackeen tongue.

"Where were you in Eden?" I joke.

"Eh?" he says. Then, "D'youse take it with sugar?"

I shake my head and look at the snow. Can't believe it snows here.