Patrick’s Day. Personally, I thought it was a load of crap. I really was not a person who got taken up with the entire so-called holiday, celebrating something I couldn’t care less about. So, I tolerated many a small indiscretion on the part of my fellow employees. They all knew my views and made sure my life was as miserable as possible. Me, I didn’t get angry I got even.Everywhere in the office green appeared. Even the urinals were belching green water; how that was managed I really didn’t want to know. All my correspondence was green on green. The closer the St. Paddy day got, the more innovative the staff became. I patiently waited for sanity to return.My name is Don Parson. The lunatic bin where I work was usually filled with sane people. We specialized in computer networking and software. My specialty was viruses and when time permits I dabbled in software solutions. I am fifty-one, a widower for the past twelve years, live alone in a large house that was my matrimonial home.. Steve was almost 18 and looked his age but I stilllooked like a school kid, which I wasn't, I'd been in art collaged fora year.The nightclub we were going to try and get into was called the RumRunner, a club that was the palace to go for a fashion scene developingat that time, which would eventually be known as New Romantics.It was a Saturday afternoon and Steve and I decided to go shopping inBirmingham to look for something to wear for that night. Post-punkyouths were everywhere while we roamed about the city center. I reallyliked the punk fashions but was just a bit to young to wear bondagetrousers and ripped T shirts, once I did spike my blond hair up withgel and even highlighted it red, but my mom went mad so I had to washit out! After that I'd let my hair grow quite long and now it was justpast my shoulders.While looking around the shops we found a boutique called Karn and Belland they had the most outrageous clothes I'd ever seen at that time.This shop was one of the few places.
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