The Shamrock: Bar/Lounge; Roundstone; August 3, 2013

I become stooled customer, foamed black at the bar.  The bartender neat, pale red shirt, buttoned-tucked.  Couples at tables, three girls at a vertex.  A perimeter-man wants my eyes.  I turn peripheral.  His slur is a welcome I recognize but do not take.  You could join us in our corner if you like…  Selves double, turn plural.  I am polite firm.  Two musicians begin to set up across from me.  A light comes on above my head.  A father has his three-year-old daughter shake hands with me, nice lady.  His is the second comment against the Guinness.  He has the daughter hug me good-bye and asks if I will sing.  The one TV has a Tom Cruise film muted while guitar and accordion speak; Cruise lost in an airport.  Turned off.  The accordion is red as ale, a tide in the lap.  The young man controls it, tilts his head back, timestamp foot shoe-white.

Video of “Tom Cruise film muted while guitar and accordion speak”