Back at the Slave Feast, Margaret and I repair to the rum shop at the edge of the sports field where we watch the Masquerade dancers, dressed in masks, mitre-style hats, and brightly patterned clothes decked with fluttering ribbons, perform a mesmeric heel-and-toe Irish polka. They dance five carrels or quadrilles, each one faster than the last. I sip my third rum and Ting of the day. The drums are now very loud; my head is starting to spin. And yes, that really is a giant leprechaun leaning against the bar.
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2016-02-26
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