I was folding up our blanket and Barb was closing the picnic basket when I heard him. “That was savage! Fine craic, indeed.” I snapped my head up so fast my neck hurt. I hadn’t heard that voice in—could it be twenty years? Could be, and was. But that hoarse tone and those words; I couldn’t be mistaken. I surveyed the crowd that was breaking up. Barb and I had come to this little park in the town center to see an Irish band perform. Every Thursday evening over the summer there were musicians in the gazebo, and dozens of