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About Dublin

In the end, I’d walk away, no sermon, no cash—just a nod. “Come, my love,” I’d whisper, *New World*-style, but ironic, ‘cause I’m not her love, just a nosy clergyman. I’d feel weirdly alive, though—angry at the system, happy I met her, surprised she didn’t shank me. “I can see Russia from my house!” I’d yell, laughin’, ‘cause I see *somethin’* now—grit, guts, the real damn world. Prostitutes ain’t just punchlines—they’re people, and I’m shook.

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After that, I decide to stroll along the Promenade. It’s packed with joggers, dog walkers, and families. I see this kid flying a kite, and I’m like, “That’s cool.” But then, the kite gets stuck in a tree. The kid starts crying, and I’m torn between helping and laughing. I mean, come on, it’s a kite! But I help him out, and he’s all smiles again. Kids, man. They’re so dramatic!

Death Notice of John Fitzgerald (Portmarnock, Dublin)