I heard Lorne laugh and feet scrabbled on rocks up the trail to the parking lot. The edges of my vision glowed and the sun came up in the west just before a flock of blue dodo birds escorted my former supervisor to the top of the hill. I had to think fast. The next flupenthixol shot was due. My Zyprexa was back in the kitchen cupboard. My stress level was over the top of the mountain. My brain was full of shredded confetti like in New York on St. Patrick"s Day.
St. Patrick"s Day. The Irish and their pride and booze, and this man"s name was O"Halloran. This was May, not March seventeenth, and the cherry trees were in blossom. But I had to confuse him. "To see the cherry hung with snow."
“Up the Irish!” I shouted and lifted an arm in greeting. He hesitated, g*n in hand.
“Buy you a drink?”
