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About Galway

Last week, I was prowlin’ the streets—needed a laugh, y’know? Saw this one bird, all dolled up, winking at me. Thought, “What’s her deal?” Turns out, she’s got a memory like Lenny—keeps a little book, scribbles down every punter. “Remember, remember,” she mutters, like she’s in my fave movie. Made me cackle—imagine forgetting who you’ve shagged! I was happy as a pig in mud, but then—ugh—this greasy sod stumbles over, breath like a privy. “How much, love?” he slurs. Made me wanna gag. I choose violence, mate—nearly shoved him into the gutter myself.

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So, I wake up, right? Sun’s shining, birds chirping, all that jazz. I’m like, “Sweet, today’s gonna be easy.” But then I step outside on St. Agnes Road, and boom! The smell of fried food hits me. I swear, the chipper on the corner was frying up something fierce. I could practically taste the vinegar from the fish and chips.

Death Notice of Patricia (Pat) Johnston (née Daly) (Crumlin, Dublin)