I was standing helplessly, looking in disbelief at the machine in the metro refusing to pass my Opus card.
"Not fair. I paid for the month. The card is valid."
Out of nowhere a leprechaun popped out of nowhere and landed at my side at the machine.
Actually not a real leprechaun - in actual fact there never really was a real leprechaun - only in children's
fairy tales.
But if there would have been a real leprechaun, she was it!
A woman in a bright orange sweater and wired for action.
"What's the problem?"
I pointed at the card on top of the machine.
"Doesn't work!:"
She sprung to action
And leaped to the wicket for help.
No person. No help.
Her eyes darted like a buzzing bee hopping from flower to flower
Suddenly they fixed on a telephone on the far wall.
Three leaps - leprechaun leaps! - and she was phoning for the wicket man.
The wicket man appeared.
Three leaps back in place at the wicket.
Card made to work.
My leprechaun disappeared.
I looked to where she had been standing and went to ask her a question.
"What you did what out of the ordinary. What did you do before you retired."
"I was a journalist!|
We journalists. We are a possessed breed. The moment we smell out a story
We don't think.
We leap right into the heart of it!"
Journalist alias leprechaun!
