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Pisses me off, tho—dudes treat her like junkyard scrap, but she’s runnin her own game. Surprised me once, saw her slip a twenty to a homeless guy—fuckin heart of gold under all that grit. “Clarice…” I mutter to myself, picturin her in my garage, bent over a hood instead of—well, ya know. Exaggeratin? Maybe, but she’s a damn legend round here.

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After that, I’m fuming. I need to vent. So, I hit up the local park, St. Helen’s Park. It’s usually my go-to for chillin’. I plop down on a bench, trying to gather my thoughts. But then, I see this kid flying a kite. And it’s not just any kite. It’s a massive dragon kite, and it’s soaring high. I can’t help but smile. Kids, man. They find joy in the simplest things.

Death Notice of Michael Carew (Booterstown, Dublin)