Is There a Lot of Luck in Life?

Recollections of my first few months in ireland come to me without much regard for chronology. I felt this way about kenny, whom we met in the sackville lounge one week day afternoon. He had high wolfish hair and small eyes that looked like they were boiling inside his face. Kenny and anna's flat didn't have a single window, not one. And instead of walls, there were thin partitions. So it was like a theatre set for a simmering kitchen sink. All you could do was look at each other or down at the marked floor. Nothing felt natural.