I am in love with a bald, Jewish man.

Wednesday and Thursday have gone. I've taken Friday to recover my stamina and to get over the wound to my heart that appeared as Reed Farrel Coleman made his goodbye.

All of this was wrapped around the events of Thursday night. All in anticipation of a small man with a spark in his eyes that could light the east coast during a black out.

Ken Bruen has established an almost cult-like following based on his writing, his charm and a wicked sense of humor. Not many could quiet the raucous St. Patrick's crowd that had gathered at Der Deutsche Cafe Brucke, but this man succeeded by merely entering the place. Among those gathered we're Jason Starr and Reed Coleman. They joined MR. Buren and these three men that on the surface seem so different, stood together like the Three Wiseass Men and read from each others books.

Coleman read from The Magdalen Martyrs, Bruen's latest in the Jack Taylor series. Coleman's gravelly voice lent a tough edge to this dark prose.

Starr read from Coleman's latest installment in the refreshing and excellent P.I. series featuring Moe Prager, The James Deans.

Bruen picked up Starr's wonderfully twisted Twisted City and found himself apologizing a few minutes in for 'fuck' laden passage he had chosen to read.

After much applause and a few Kinsale Ale's (love at first glug) the jovial crowd mobbed our hapless heroes as Ruth and I slipped out to begin preparations for the evenings festivities.

That night slipped easily into early morning with a lot of laughter and my usual ball busting.

It wasn't a drunken, back-slapping testosterone riddled chaos festival. Nor was it a night of tea sipping as interest rates and the chaos theory were discussed at length.

When Ken left I had my usual sense of brushing up against a gentle, strong and uncommonly generous spirit featuring the keenest of wits. I'm sure no one feels there is ever enough time spent with the man.

Luck and crime fiction bring together people that feel like family. It is a blessing.

But my heart will always have a most special place reserved for the bald man who takes a ball busting better than anyone I know.