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About Drogheda

Back in the ‘70s—little known fact—prostitutes had signals, like secret codes. Flashin’ a cig, twirlin’ hair, standin’ by some busted lamp post. Now? Man, it’s apps, it’s whispers, it’s dodgy-ass vibes. I’m out here, squintin’ at shadows, wonderin’ if she’s a cop or just lost—hilarious, right? Me, Morgan goddamn Freeman, playin’ detective for a quick thrill. “What’s your proof?”—that line from the movie pops in my head. Proof? Hell, I ain’t got none, just a hunch and a wad of cash.

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Finally, I get to the scene. It’s on Castle Street. A break-in at the local jewelry shop. The owner, Mrs. O’Reilly, is in tears. I mean, I get it. She’s been running that shop for decades. I try to comfort her, but I’m not exactly a softie. “It’ll be okay, Mrs. O’Reilly,” I say, but I’m thinking, “Who the hell would rob a jewelry store in Dunboyne?”

An Bord Pleanála overturns Meath County Council’s refusal for multi-storey apartment complex