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Now, don’t get me wrong—it ain’t all laughs. Some of ‘em, they’re cryin’ inside, maskin’ it with glitter and heels. Reminds me of Chas Tenenbaum, all wound up tight, hidin’ his mess. How’s that workin’ for ya, huh? Livin’ night to night, dodgin’ cops, prayin’ the john ain’t a psycho. I reckon it’s a tough gig—tougher’n a $2 steak. But some of ‘em? They’re survivors, y’all. Tough as nails.

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We’re on Main Street, right? It’s buzzing with life. I mean, who doesn’t love a good morning in Wicklow? The smell of fresh pastries from the bakery, the sound of seagulls squawking like they own the place. But then, bam! My student shows up late. Like, seriously? I’m standing there, tapping my foot, thinking, “C’mon, mate, we ain’t got all day!”

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