Where? Right here. What are you, blind to the world? Open your eyes. Look me square in the eye and I’ll tell you we are here. We are right here. All over the place. But do we know it? No. Not really. No. We are dilluting. Watering down. Merging, really, with others. Come St. Patrick’s day we’re back in an eye blink. Kiss me I’m Irish and here’s mud in your eye! Then the next day, in the twinkling of an eye, memory fails before it can remember. We have some Irish in us, but we don’t remember what that means. Some of us think we have no heritage at all, the blind leading the blind to the world. No-one so blind as those that will not see. Now get the hell out of my sight.