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About Swords

So I’m watchin’ her, tailin’ her, cause somethin’s off—gut screamin’ at me. She’s got this walk, y’know, hips swayin’ like she owns the damn sidewalk. Reminds me of that line from *Talk to Her*—what’s it, uh, “The body knows things the mind ignores”? Yeah, that’s her! Body tellin’ a whole damn novel while her mouth’s spittin’ lies. I’m pissed, right? Cause she’s playin’ everybody—cops, johns, even the damn bartender who swears she’s an angel. Angel! Hah! Angel with a rap sheet longer than my ex-wife’s grudge list.

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So, I finally get to my shop on the Ballygall Rd. and it’s a mess. Furs everywhere! I’m talkin’ like a fur explosion. I trip over a fox pelt and nearly faceplant. Classic me, right? I start sorting through the chaos, and then my phone buzzes. It’s my mate, Dave. He’s like, “You comin’ to the pub later?” I’m like, “Dude, I’m knee-deep in fur here!” But I can’t resist a pint, so I say maybe.

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