Luck of the Irish.

[rossi]

You might have the luck of the Irish , no matter where your ancestors are from. Accept all offers and advice.

Greta snorted and folded up the newspaper. Horoscopes. A bunch of bollocks, the lot of them.

"Excuse me, miss, would you be able to give me a moment of your time?"

"Sorry, can't stop. I'm on my way to work."

"Then perhaps a word of advice?"

She didn't even reply this time, just continued on her way. Behind her, the air shimmered around the young man who had spoken to her, revealing a small figure clad all in green, wearing a hat with a buckle on it.

"Ah, sure it's to be a sad thing to be so cynical," he said to himself. "Now who am I to give this pot of gold to?"