“So, tell me more about Ireland,” the blonde said, lighting up another Marlboro 100 and absently flicking her foot over a crossed leg. “Do you have family there?” “Kind of,” I replied. “Hey. I just realized I don’t even know your name yet. I’m Dan.” I extended my hand. “Tina,” she replied, taking my hand in hers. It was warm

I was two-months divorced and fresh back from an amazing trip to Ireland, the night I met Tina. I’d gone to Farmington to visit one of my oldest friends to regale him with tales of my adventures, have a few drinks and laughs. It was a warm June evening and the sun was just setting. I met Donovan at the