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About Drogheda

Den—oh, dis got me ragin’—some pimp tried musclin’ in, all “Pay me first, ugly!” Ugly? Me? I’d snap his neck, but nah, too messy. Shoved him off, grabbed da gal, we bolted. *Under the Skin* moment—“This isn’t what it seems”—she’s gigglin’, I’m thinkin’, “Is she a trap?” Dat flick messes wid ya head, mate! We duck into some dive, she’s all flirty, I’m countin’ coins—exaggeratin’ here, I’m broke as hell, ha!

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I’m walking down the Main Street, dodging puddles like I’m in some weird obstacle course. And then, BAM! I bump into Mrs. O’Reilly. She’s this sweet old lady who always has a story. Today, she’s raving about some “ghost” she saw near the old railway station. I’m like, “Sure, Mrs. O’Reilly, ghosts are just the spirits of bad decisions.” But she’s dead serious. I mean, who wouldn’t be spooked by the old Balbriggan train station? It’s got that eerie vibe, you know?

Death Notice of Dave Gray (Balbriggan, Dublin)