Cork, Ireland, January, 1999. Late at night. The third night of my first (and, so far, only) trans-Atlantic sojourn. I have just discovered that my then-girlfriend, who came to Cork in September for a year of study, has been sleeping with her German flatmate.
I'm standing by the River Lee, which runs through the city of Cork. I'm leaning over a stone retaining wall, staring absently at the polluted water far below. I have a cup of hard cider. At my feet is the 2-Liter plastic bottle.
Across the cobblestone street, a sign reads:
Alcoholic Beverages Prohibited
Immediate £25 fine
Up To £500 Fine If Convicted
Heck, I figure; if I get deported, I get deported. It would be the least of my worries.
A cop approaches.
Cop: "Evenin'."
Me: "Evenin'."
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