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The Mick Resurfaces NOW IF THE DAMN QUEEN WOULD ONLY GET HER ACT TOGETHER Marguerite Rivas sipoet marguer161@aol.com The good Monsignior poured himself a stiff one and, giving a barely audible benediction, quaffed it down. It seems as though the Mick were in for it now. So much time had passed, so many important things had happened that the man was damn near a dinosaur by now. Mick shuffled meekly (and weakly because of all of that potato soup and brew) toward the men. The place was as quiet as Mount Manresa on Good Friday. Mick opened his mouth to speak once again, but the good Msgr. shot Mick a look that could have sent him flying from here to Shooter's Island. "Just you listen, my boy, just you listen."



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