Bright clear day in Dublin.
Fresh breeze gusting off the quays and pouring down city streets.
The young disporting.
The citizenry basking.
A sense of carefreedom everywhere.
It's almost as if no one has noticed his demise.
The children of the sun have better things to think about.
In Trinity College I sit on a bench amid the bright young things.
Lots of sexors hanging around in wondrous deshabille.
They look nice.
Presently two male students wander by and halt in close proximity.
They are talking loudly.
I'm thinking: Cavemen mating ritual, beating their chests, marking their territory, let's get out of here.
Instead I stay to listen.
I look at the duo.
Harmless enough but brash and youthful and aggressive enough too.
One of the students is a tall tough looking fellow with a shaved head.
The other is an unkempt Irish kid, thick set, long haired and bare chested.
It emerges the tall baldy is a Yank. He may look tough but when he talks he exudes a somewhat likeable American innocence.
"Hoo boy," he says with enthusiasm. "We got him at last. It may have cost thousands of our soldiers and who knows how many other lives, but we got him."
My ears prick up.
"What do you think it means?" asks his friend.
"Well it's the end of terrorism," proclaims the American with all the courage, defiance and naivety of his nation.
I listen fascinated.
His analysis does seem a bit optimistic.
Then the conversation takes a turn that humbles me.
"You were in Afghanistan," says the Irish guy.
"Yeah for a little while," says the Yank more quiet.
"What was it like?" asks the Irish guy.
The American grins.
"We were looking for him everywhere you know," he recalls. "I used to be saying to my buddy: Hey Gary. Gary. He's under the bed there. Take a look.
Man, half the time I was scared out of my mind.."
As I listen the thought strikes home.
This party dude has been to Afghanistan.
Not as a backpacker.
Not as a tourist.
But as a warrior.
The thought crystalises.
It's Americans like him to whom we owe the freedoms won in World War Two, the Cold War, and now the War On Terror..
In all probability it was a bunch of innocent congenial loud talking all American party dudes who two nights ago charged where angels fear to tread into that secret Al Qaeda hell hole in Pakistan.
Most probably it was the bravest party dude among them who raced up the stairs and put a bullet right between Osama Bin Laden's mightily surprised Jihadi eyes.
Only the true innocents ever have the courage to fight evil.
"Are you going to the party tonight?" asks the Irish guy.
"I'm already there Dude," shoots back the American.
Such is the talk of a heroes.