time and time again

Dublin in fog.
The shabby city rendered mystical by the shroud.
Orange street lamps pooling in the mist.
I drive and park and stroll.
I find the Contessa in the Costa Cafe on Dawson Street.
She is incongruously beautiful.
The cacophony of mid evening quaffers fills the room.
Outside the grubby features of Dublin glisten opaque and ethereal and mysterious as the Quai Des Brumes.
There is no place on earth I would rather be.