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About Swords

So, picture this—dark alley, stinks o’ piss. We hates it! This lass, she’s there, all tarted up. “What’s yer price, love?” I croaks. She eyes me like I’m a bleedin’ toad. Fair enough—I am! Made me mad, tho. Why’s she judgin’? I got coin, don’t I? Little fact—back in Victorian times, prossies had secret signals. Hand on hip meant “I’m game.” Hers was glued there, ha!

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First off, I woke up late. Classic me. Alarm didn’t go off. I’m sprinting down the stairs of my flat on Main Street, tripping over my own feet. I mean, who needs coffee when you’ve got adrenaline, right? I finally make it to the library, which is on the corner of St. Mary’s and the River Liffey. Beautiful spot, but I’m not here for the views.

Death Notice of Benny (Brendan) Dolan (Lucan, Dublin)