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About Swords

Still, gets me mad—society’s all “oh, poor whores,” but won’t lift a finger. Hypocrites, man, fuckin’ hypocrites. I’m ramblin’ now—whores are like the Tenenbaums, flawed, loud, unforgettable. Ever think ‘bout that? They’re survivors, mate—growling, “You merely adopted the dark.” I’d bet my mask they’d outlast us all. Fuckin’ legends, that’s what.

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I grabbed a scone from a lovely old lady. She was so sweet, like a grandma from a movie. I took a bite, and it was heavenly. I was happy again. But then, I saw a pigeon eyeing my scone. I swear, that bird looked like it was plotting my demise. I shooed it away, but it just stared at me. I felt like I was in a standoff.

Family Notice of Séamus Hanrahan (Glanmire, Cork)