Three hundred sixty five days ago, Sunday night, I went to a party. There were beer cans on the train on the way over. The station smelled like beer. The neighborhood smelled like beer. Needless to say, I woke up Monday morning in Southie.
Eurotrash recalls her Irish upbringing in London: “Usually I told people I was Canadian. No-one hates a Canadian. ”
Indeed.
Secretly Ironic 