Jillian B. Hart
She found herself very melancholy and couldn't even explain why if she had been asked. Rather then give into the blues she fashioned on a casual emerald green dress and zipped up the knee length, spiked, black boots. Slipped into a leather jacket and headed out the door. People watching always lifted her spirits and gave her inspiration to write. What better night to gather in the sights.
She sat at the bar, taking in the blur of faces on the dance floor. The festive holiday sounds emanated through the room mixed with dance tunes. Shiny plastic four leaf clovers and green beads dangled from necks and bounced across chests in erratic and off beat motions. Choirs of "Slainte" replaced the usual shouts of cheers followed by the clinks of beer mugs. Green beer overflowed, yet, not her drink of preference so she had ordered Bailey's straight up. Every one was Irish today. Yet her Irish eyes were far from smiling. Although she had never fancied this Irish pub in the city, perhaps this wasn't the right pub to observe the happy crowds, as something about the place reminded her of times gone by.
