Everyone had a bit of Irish blood, or at least it seemed that way. San Francisco downtown was full of merriment today, and the non-Irish dressed up all the same, with shamrocks, big buckles and something green.
Standing next to Bank of America’s building in the freezing cold, a young woman pulled down her skimpy shorts and bared her bottom at her boyfriend’s camera. They were not Leprechauns, even though they wore big green broad-brimmed hats. They were just a little drunk, with the bars opened and the bagpipes playing Amazing Grace.
Walking up the hill to home, I saw little white spring flowers quivering in the wind. The grass and trees had been washed by yesterday’s rain. It was not only St. Patrick’s Day. It was Spring Day.
