The Irish Dream. A couple times every year I have what I call the Irish Dream. The locations are from my 1980 trip there, and are restricted to Dublin.
I am never alone in this dream, nor are the people I am alone with, for we are always swelling -- until I escape and am sucked in by another, who veers off into some new form of electric bullshit, similar to what I do with my fiction.
The main feature of the Irish Dream -- which begins when there are more than two of us and becomes the exclusive mode when we are four -- is quipping. Suddenly everyone is speaking in quips, and I leap from my chair like a man on fire, late for his job at the arsonist's.
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