Established Marvel : a Monk by Abbreviation

124. SO NO ONE REALLY KNOWS THE DIFFERENCE:

Some kind of misery is measured out in miles - or something like that - I'd heard one night at the Round Square Tavern by Cherry Street and Drovers Lane or was it Drovers Street and Cherry Lane I forget that too with all the resounding of echoes inside my head but this one night was was special enough with some Lily Langtrey lookalike plying her trades (both of them) close to my face nearly all night and her name was Mary Elle she said and she spoke with a lilt which never stopped - about Ireland her home and the way it was all going and what she should do really to forget it and she would if she chose to and could too right now even upstairs if I wanted but her hand on my leg was enough to keep me interested and whichever gibberish she spoke I heard and the slow hand went higher up too and I tried to forget but couldn't but did kiss her once and then again like a dare to myself and that was enough for that hand o'hers to turn into a feeler for me and she hit her target too and before it got too crazy I eased it back off and said to her that I really didn't think right of taking her right then and although her body to me sang of many things I hadn't the need to ennerve the other fellows by striking out on my own like that and I could see by her heaving chest she wasn't having any of that so we kissed some more anyway and then it all ended over a few more drinks and she sauntered soon away as others came in to catch her fancy too - her dollar to be made not mine all night - and that was that Mary Elle was gone to me and thus I catalogued too what I could - she had wonderful legs a luscious tight ass and structured frame beyond compare and great tits too and she was dressed as provocatively as one could get without getting and dark hair like a dream and eyes like an angel red lips and a pout on cheeks that would kill and her hands were the hands of some divine-inspired study by someone not me but great with the pen-tip to draw such delights and now you know that and I move on - other things too catch the eye - hundreds literally pieces of old baseball memorabilia somehow hanging still upon the walls bats hats gloves pictures signs balls and banners and the another wall seemingly filled with old gasoline memorabilia oil signs gas fillers posters metal advertisements and car ads too all from days of old and the adjacent incongruous collection of Ireland maps and insets and photo details of castles fens and marshes and highlands and old thatched homes everything a'jumble and smashed together along with ale mugs cigar ads old posters for events long gone some Irish poetry scrawled on old paper and more - things and stuff to alert the eye to something different faraway and strange and things which somehow add new vibrancy and color to tired old haunches still stuck on barstools and benches with endless foul music blaring amidst its own foul-changing array and the loud raucous talk of twenty patrons annulled to anything not theirs loud louder and loudest were all there too : to wit a scene of color and volume and the gawkiest collection of semblance of same - as in nearly every other bar-room and tap citywide - and nothing different then but nothing the same either as I just sat there awhile and gazed while Mary Elle went to work.
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These streets are old pretty old old enough for fourth generation windows and rotted wood frames where they're not and the rising sun and the setting sun over thousands of times and thousands more have sent light careening through them or from and cigarette smokes attest to the yellow and pails of water and waste trace all the lineage of man - but still so many people do not get it or if they do refuse to recognize it and wander on lame or wasted and silent or mute and the rising petrified screen of image is seen as higher buildings grow and from these grow again but it's like that in both Paradise and Hell alike so no one really knows the difference.