the weekender

Coffee with the Sicilian. Two effortless hours. Her name is Gabriella. We rendezvoused at a Cafe Insomnia near the Ilac Centre in Dublin. What is it about the Italians?
Afterwards I attended mass at the church of Saint Mary in the Maughans, Clarendon Street. Mary herself was there outside the door and mugged me for twenty quid as I endeavoured to slip past. She also tried to talk me into helping her transport a new cooker to her new house, but I wasn't buying.
By nightfall I was back at the Chateau de Healy where a tail wagging Paddy Pup brought me for a walk beneath the stars. The heat of the day had passed. The garden of my father enfolded us. A balmy wind coursed past us from the fields making hedges and trees tremulous with a gospel shiver.
For the first time in a long time I felt true hope in the eternal.