Irish Car Bombs

Chatting with a fella named Keith in one of Clinton, Indiana's fine drinking establishments...

"I would love to go to Ireland, I'd love to go anywhere else...but I can't. I can't go anywhere."
"Why not?"
"I'm a felon."
"Oh really, what did you do?"
"Fighting, more fighting, possession.."
"Why'd you do all that? Let me guess...there's fuck all else to do round here?"
"You got it."
"Damn."

These people were nice. These people who could not leave this little toxic bubble for whatever reason, legal restrictions or just a resignation to a life that won't expand much further than a few miles down the highway were thrilled to meet someone from another place. They bought me Irish Car Bombs to make me feel at home, they bought Ruby Irish Car Bombs because they thought she was my mother, they drank them with me so they could share in a new experience. Just like travelling alongside me to a land far beyond the county line, far beyond the state line. A land that might as well be in another galaxy, it lies so unreachable.