Irish bed and breakfast

an old town to awaken in, a fresh bed in an old town. Tipperary Town, a long street of sorry houses, sad fronts and many closed shops, or shops sunk from former greatness.

Or the greatness of former times.

But the room is fresh, the bed is soft, the bathroom is clean. The son in one bed, the father on the other. The suitcase is in the middle.

It is a lovely clear day.

The man, Mr. Casey, says so.

So so.

Irish breakfast, black pudding, rashers, an egg.

Coffee for the German.

The son is happy.

Irish bed and breakfast