The Theme is Green

[maddy_ricks]

Trouble. Maddy was looking to get into it. She was bored, had a cashed paycheck in her pocket, and was looking for a decent way to spend it. She sat on a street corner idly flicking a lighter. In celebration of St. Patrick’s Day, she wore an off-the-shoulder shirt with a huge clover on it. Her canvas shoes twisted and tapped in the dry gutter in time with a saxophone player’s tunes. The street performer smelled like pot and possibly crack, but Maddy wasn’t going to point it out. The guy could wail. Loose change landed in his instrument case and Maddy gave the passerby a thumbs-up on his behalf, since his fingers were occupied on the keys. By midnight his case would be too heavy to lift, she predicted. Lots of drunk people wandering about tonight.

She tilted her head back. “Hey, do you know Pink Floyd?”

The guy smiled around his reed and began to crank out Money.

Maddy lit a cigarette and jabbed it at the air. “That’s what I’m talking about.” She scratched her wrist and watched people pour into any bar that was appropriately themed. McKenna's. O'Malley's. Green beer was on tap and suddenly everybody had an Irish grandma or great-uncle or whatever. She wondered if midgets experienced a higher level of harassment on St. Patrick's Day or if it was like, Their Day.

[Thread: Open to Anyone(s)]

Comments

[wolfs_daughter]

Echo didn't know enough about her family tree to claim Irish ancestry. Papa hardly ever talked about his life before he'd been bitten, and Mama had been estranged from her parents when her only child was born. But it was possible that somewhere there was an Irish cousin or something, and on St. Patrick's Day, everyone was a little bit Irish.

The hybrid had cashed her paycheck that afternoon. The job with the daycare center wasn't going to make her rich, but she liked the kids and they liked her. And it beat waiting tables.

The sidewalk was bustling. Echo was wearing a green sweatshirt, and had green Converses on her feet. She was looking forward to chewing her way through a glass or two of Guinness. The sound of a saxophone distracted her. She wasn't Pink Floyd's biggest fan, but the musician was doing an excellent job, second hand pot smell and all.