Now that was something, thought Joey Driscol. Sure it wasn’t every day you saw three pelicans flying in a row. But there it was, three of the big white fellas up in the sky with their saggy jowls flapping as loudly as their wings against the bright blue sky. It was a grand sight to see, so it was, but sometimes the melancholy Celt came out in Joey and he wondered did he really deserve to be in this place. In Ireland they would have said it meant something. Three of anything in a row would have brought bad news, like a black hat on a bed or an umbrella up indoors. He knew his own mother would have been splashing the holy water around, lighting candles in church and praying to her patron saint at such a sight as three pelicans flying in a row. But there were no pelicans back in Kilmora, and
