True to form, Sy already had an Irish pub in mind, barely a block and a half away. The automatic explosion of noise that greeted us when Sy and I walked through the door gave me a good idea where a lot of the crowd had come from. If that wasn’t enough, the sea of dark laurel-branded t-shirts told me the rest. In addition, there was a layer of magical aftermath clinging to almost everyone in the bar like golden dust. Sy and my distinct magic: like nothing else.

Sy’s bad mood ...