Last Friday in Belfast

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It was the Sixties. Jay-R left the backwater of Desolation Valley in search of romance and adventure, and Paris seemed like a good place to begin. His aspirations are time-honored and usually simple for a young man, and falling in love with Cait was as natural as…well, this is where it got complicated. Cait was married to somebody she now hated, but she probably loved Monet. And everybody wanted to love Monet, but Monet was Roxanne, a spy. Jay-R knew or suspected most of this, but he was young and love is blind, so he overlooked the complications.

With all of the love and intrigue in the Parisian air, what entropic vortex could suck ordinary people like Jay-R into a backwater sectarian war? Actually, there’s no need to create an imaginary scenario. Look no further for the vortex than the weird, delusional schizophrenia of England, that plucky little island that stood up to Hitler all by herself (not really), ruler of Britannia and the high seas (not really), Lords of an Empire where the sun never sets. Again, not really. Tribal conflict and oppression reigned as the sun was setting on the Empire one insurgency at a time. The really virulent Trouble was brewing in England’s own backyard, Ireland. It would take a miracle for Jay-R to escape the spiral, or a lot of luck.