She parked in the small lot and leapt out, grabbing her bags from the trunk. She was exhausted and ready to get inside and rest.
But as she approached, she realized rest was not something she was about to get. Because even from here she could hear the sounds of merry conversation and rowdy debate. She could also hear the sound of live music, of violins, pianos, and accordions.
A bell over the door tinkled as she walked inside to find a small, dark pub with old crimson wallpaper and several round wooden tables. The place was filled to the brim with people, beers in hand. They looked over at her as if they could tell right away she didn’t belong here, that she wasn’t just a tourist, but an American.
Keira felt a little overwhelmed by the culture shock.
“What can I get yee?” a male voice
