Back in the Dam

I revert to type (as usual) stumbling around the dingy brown bar on the other side of the Atlantic. Two educated lesbians grill me on my understanding of Ulysses.

“Do you really ‘get it’ tho?”

I pause, taken aback. “It’s like The Waste Land. I don’t really care about getting it. I just care about enjoying it.”

They clearly didn’t expect this answer and star at me, befuddled, searching for the appropriate comeback. A troupe of Irish hooligans enters the bar, drunk and rowdy screaming about gear and shit and blonde-brown hash

“‘Ave ye go’ any mate?”
“Yeeeuh yeeeuh yeeeuh whare’s the shit then mate?”

We retreat to the basement barracks where we’d all been living for the last month. It takes forever to find a permanent place in a city like this, overrun with tourists and nigger rich Irishmen getting jobs selling gear. A tubby red-headed American comes downstairs with his blonde bitch girlfriend whining and cloying at his side.

“Um… doyuhlikethinkIshouldputsomeshoeson?”
“Uhhhh… I dunnno…”

I laugh out loud. Fucking Americans. The embarassment to the human species. Only thing worse than a white man is a white American paying for fuck and drugs and booze everywhere he goes trying to buy everything friends love loyalty respect. The two loudly announce their ignorance to all within earshot and the Irish giggle like little girls at me.