I decide to check out the pub for a few reasons. First and foremost, my mouth tastes like crap and I need something to help with that. Second being that I should know how many people may interfere with what needs doing. The doc may not react kindly and I surely don’t need a bunch of drunks wandering upstairs to find out what’s going on. Just before walking in, a thought strikes me and I download a few pages on Irish dialect. I wince as it gets pushed to the language center. Knowledge is a little less painful than muscle, but it still stings. I open the door and let the new smells and noise wash over me. I head towards the bar scanning the room as I walk through. “A pint of yer finest cidar lass.â€? Indistinguishable from the other patrons, she probably thinks I am from around the corner. I turn back towards the room and listen to the sounds of the fiddle player in the corner. I have a new fondness for noise. It’s probably why I keep music in storage. Silence tends to raise my hackles as of late.