The morning of St. Padraig’s Day my landlord and I noticed these stacked beer cases across the street. The sweet old lady had collected them from the trash.
“I figure it’s about $150. I’m going to cash in the bottles and go play slots.” The old lady looked to be Hindu, but her son was Puerto Rican. Fort Greene had been a melting pot of races for the 20th Century.
“Atlantic City?” AP asked from the steps, taking my photo.
“No, I never go to AC. The casinos are too cheap. They cheat everyone.” She shook her head with a tested vehemence. “Jersey casino are never straight. No, I’m going to try the new slots casino at Aqueduct. I heasrd they give honest pay-outs. Are you Irish?”
“Yes.” I was wearing a green cap.
“Then touch those bottles and give me some of the luck of the Irish.”
“With pleasure.” I put my hand on the empties. It came away from the bottles smelling of beer.
For me that aroma was good luck.
I like my beer.