It’s extremely green there. It’s green everywhere. In the winter, it’s still green. Just green and more green. There are about seventy-five shades of green. Whenever anybody wants to remind themselves that they’re Irish, they say, “It’s time for the wearin’ of the green.” It’s green city. That’s pretty much it as far as the landscape goes. There are also the Irish people. There are young men there and old men there. The young men are often called “brawny.” They wear little hats and will, if provoked, punch you in the mouth. The old men are smaller than the young men. The old men smoke pipes and make mysterious, gnomic pronouncements and statements about things. The statements sound like questions. Instead of saying, “Nice night,” they say, “Are you after havin’ dinner, is it?” Everybody says, “Top of the mornin’.” No one knows what this means. There is a lot of punching in “Ireland.”
