sligo

The town of Sligo is changing they say, heading too far upscale and toward the pampered progressive end of things. Yes, it remained the fabled land of the liberal left in the surrounding metropolitan area, and it was lined with “(Re)defeat Bush” yard signs a good month after the townspeople’s arch-nemesis was, with resounding wails of horror up and down Aspen Avenue, re-elected. But still. Things had gotten trendier. More faddish. The town seemed to be where idealistic up-and-comings were now heading after making a concession or two along the way. The organic cabbage soy-shakes were clearly not targeting the income-conscious commoner.

But, anyway, Eve thought, Sligo’s still the sort of place were I can sight an aging hippie who I saw prancing about in the nude several summers ago, at an annual Women’s Weekend in the Woods. Eve had never actually met her, of course—there were a lot of women prancing about that year—but her beautiful, crooked half-smile was hard to mistake.