So we had one eventful Paddy's Day.
A goddamn barfight. Of all the days of the year for me to get dragged into a fight, Saint Bloody Patrick's Day

So  Mary and I are in one of those "Irish Pub" places that try far too hard to actually seem Irish, and we're having a few drinks (as you do, 'tis the season etc.) and this dude comes up to the table and yanks back Mary's hair, hard. It's kinda long (black too, god I need to talk to y'all about  her some day) so back she went, her head angled back against the back of the chair.

I stood up, of course, and went to shove the guy away. I got a better look at him then. He was old, his hair lank, grey and receding. His face was bloated, and he looked like he'd had a lot to drink (though I couldn't smell much booze off him). His skin was pale, tinged a dull green, like he was ill.

As I came close to him, he grabbed out at my shirt and swung me around towards him. The bastard was strong. He shoved me back, but I came at him again, trying to grab his arm and stop him pulling on Mary's hair. He used his free hand to elbow me as I made a move, and it caught me straight on the temple. I went down, and there's an awful lump where he got me.

When I came to my senses, Mary filled me in. The guy had left, the rest of the bar had started to notice, she told me. He leaned in, still holding here, and snarled: "Where's Jack?" He asked. She said she didn't know.

I've not seen Jack for a couple of days. My theory is that he skipped town, broken arm or not. He seems to have some enemies here, so I ain't surprised. Mary doesn't feel safe here any more, so we're gonna try and get out in the next few days.

'Till the next time, guys.