a quiet interlude

Coffee with The Perfect Fit in the Insomnia Cafe near Trinity College.

"I hate this place," sighs The Perfect Fit.

My handsome features break into a broad grin, making them even more handsome than before if that were possible.

"Oh come on," sez I. "There's great atmosphere. All those young Trinners types pseuding around. Comfortable chairs. Muffins. Me. Admit it. You love it."

The Perfect Fit shook her head.

"No," she insisted. "I hate it. I don't understand why you insist on coming here."

My famous broad grin flashed again.

"Look around you," I tell her. "There's not one waiter here thinking of self detonating in the name of Jihad. Not one of them considering jumping up on the tables, shouting Allah U Akbar, and shooting us for being infidels. Not one of them I recognise from a fecking Muslim street gang patrolling the thoroughfares outside. That's gotta count for something."

The Perfect Fit shook her hispanic head and looked ever more glum.

Her phone rang.

She chattered briefly in some language I didn't recognise.

Possibly Spanish.

"That was Julio," she explained when she'd finished.

"What did he want?" quoth me.

"He wanted me to come meet him," answered she.

"Well off you go," sez me.

"No, I told him I was with you," proclaimed she.

"What did he say?" wondered me.

"He hung up," quoth she.

The noble Heelers gentle preraphaelite undeniably grinny features looked briefly as though they might never grin again.

"Woman are you mad?" expostulated me. "He's Spanish. Hot blood. You know how nuts the Spanish are. You're one of them. You don't want him to think there's anything going on with us. He might kill me."

"I'm willing to take that chance," purred the Perfect Fit.

"I'm not," I mouthed bitterly.

"Oh go on, he's not jealous of you," said she.

"He hung up, didn't he?" muttered me.

"Yes but that's nothing to do with you," chirruped she maddeningly.

Ireland's greatest living poet looked wildly around the cafe.

"He'll probably come bursting in here at any moment," sez me. "He'll let a shout of Bastardo, I will fight you for her honour. And I'll reply: No, but I'll willingly run away from you for her honour if that will do."

Outside on the streets the first light of Spring was breaking through the Jihadis.

We finished our coffees and exited.

Into the mists of time and fantasy.