One of our guides in Norther Ireland was a man named Steve (I don't recall his last name because it was never given to me). I didn't meet him until we went to Derry (the furthermost point of Ireland, somewhat anyways).

If you didn't get this by now, Ireland has tugged on my heart since we left. There's a rich history there as well as a complex modern history that should be experienced by everyone. The first time I met Steve was a hilarious interaction. We arrived in Derry from Belfast from Dublin. There was a bar-b-que also know as a common "grill out" in the U.S. at the Derry Hostel. We went to grab beers and arrived.

Eating my burger we watched Cameroon play someone in the World Cup. Our Aussie friends were telling stories in this darkened shed-like structure behind the hostel. It was thrown together, but had a "pub-like" character to it. Couches were in the back. Several candles strewn threw the various cranies and cracks. The local hostel cat (I can't recall it's name) sat on a board just above the story teller. Everyone had grabbed their own local brew from the local Tesco (equivalent to a Kroger or Food Lion or Albertsons here in the US) and intently listened.

We all laughed and swapped stories. And then Steve. He walked up. Said "Aye." I nodded at his Corona and asked, "Is that a favorite?" His phone rang.

"Hollywood," he said.

"Better take it," I said.

He left, and I listened to the Aussie's story. It was rubbish and most likely made up. He had downed 1/2 a bottle of Vodka and it was only 8:30. Steve came back.

"What they say," I said.

"Gave the part to Brad," he responded with a grin.


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