Country Roads

The landlords have a realtor called Patrick whose job it is now to troop prospective renters through my soon-to-be ex-bedsit. Sometimes he calls first, other times he doesn't. I'm hungover one morning when I hear the timid knock on the door - hello? And then it's all, dammit, because when falling into bed tipsy the

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Taxicab Duets

Drinks at Kennedy's with my former classmates turns into a tipsy nighttime walk through City Centre turns into drinks and dancing at 4 Dame Lane. Untiss untiss untiss. Untiss untiss untiss. Talk of our novels, talk of our poetry, talk of our master's portfolios; of marriage and children and Beckett and Hardy and confessional poets

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Roots

Four days left in Dublin. Can two weeks have passed already? I've picked up my dry cleaning. I've packed my books to ship to me in Italy via An post. I still have to take the ESB out of my name. Close my bank account. Shut down my internet. Get my deposit back from the

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