She drunkenly approached me at the end of the bar, her drinking companions looking on with terrible attempts at nonchalance.
"Hey man, see the shirt? Better follow it!"
I glanced down at the words stretched across her chest.
"And are you?"
She swayed as she lined up her brain cells.
"Am I what?"
"Irish!"
"Today I am!"
I sighed and stood up. I then, as she asked, kissed her.
When she'd wake up in a week, she'd find the note in her hand, telling her to look up what St Patrick actually did to the Aos Sí, to my people.
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