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About Cork

So I asks, “How much, precious?” She smirks, “Fifty quid, you weirdo.” Fifty! Robbery, that is! “I ain’t got no home,” I whines, quotin’ Llewyn again, hopin’ pity works. Nope. She rolls her eyes, walks off, hips swayin’. Grrr, made me ragey, but also – wow – them curves, my precious! Nearly chased her, but me legs, all wobbly, nah.

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First, I’m at the library on the Hazelhatch Road, digging through some old records. I’m all focused, right? Then, boom! Fire alarm goes off. Like, seriously? I’m just trying to find out about the old Celbridge Abbey, and now I’m sprinting out the door with a bunch of confused old folks. I swear, I almost tripped over Mrs. O’Reilly’s cat. That cat is a menace, I tell ya.

Death Notice of John Phillips (Celbridge, Kildare)