153. Pub-licity

I couldn’t think straight. Burbank was right—we needed to convince Lenore we weren’t mad and that she had to take on this new project for everyone’s sakes. But all Lenore cared about was getting me through tonight’s event, which was in a pub. How very Irish.

There was no podium or me doing a gentle cough and reading a few pages of my novel like a stuffy old man. What there was was a big round table where old men kept slapping me on the back and buying me drinks. Every once in a while someone else would come in with a “Ooos dis den?” and everyone would try to explain about why I was here in very slurred Irish accents that I could barely make heads or tails of when they were sober, and then I’d get another beer. At one point I think there was a shush and I thanked everyone for coming, but I can’t really remember it now because I was quite pissed by then.