Dark Green

I was shopping at Gelson’s Better Foods Than You Deserve in Calabasas. After having passed by one of those music-emitting displays which hold racks of who-buys-this-stuff? music CDs, I felt my subconsious mind tap me on the shoulder and say, “Did you see that odd CD title that just went by in a blur?”

My happy song was better than the song coming out of the display.

For blurred it was. I hadn’t turned my gaze upon the CD display; it was simply a minor background annoyance. And yet: Something had caught the hem of my cloak. Something caused me to wonder if I had just seen a CD titled Celtic Noir.

The Big Sleep in a Faery Ring

What the…? I said to myself. Did I just see a CD titled Celtic Noir? And if so, just what is “Celtic Noir’? Is it the genre in which Irish crime novelist Adrian McKinty works? Could it be Bono’s new men’s boutique?

I had to know. I turned back to see if my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me.

Silly mind! Tricks are for Ids!

It was. Playing tricks, that is. My mind, that is. My mind was playing tricks: The CD that had slipped past my Doors of Perception was, alas, no compilation of hard-boiled songs from black and white Irish crime flicks of the fifties. No. It was merely a CD of John McDermott — the eponymous Celtic tenor.

I laughed. I sighed. I went on with my shopping, all the while ruminating on Adrian McKinty’s ultra-violent Irish crime thrillers.

Dead I Well May Be
by Adrian McKinty
(Pocket Books, Mass Market Paperback, 384pp.)

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