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About Cork

She’s a rose in concrete, metaphors spillin’ like lean. “Her skin’s a map of tears,” like in the movie, quiet pain screamin’. I’m thinkin’, how she laugh tho? Sarcasm drippin’, she said, “Wayne, I fuck for freedom.” Freedom? Shit, that’s a bar! I chuckled, but it’s heavy—trapped in a game, no exit.

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After I clean up the mess, I head out to deliver some pastries to the café on Chapelizod Road. It’s a lovely spot, always buzzing with locals. I’m walkin’ down the street, and I see Mrs. O’Reilly from across the way. She’s always got a story. Today, she’s ranting about the new traffic lights on the bridge. “They’re a menace!” she says. I’m like, “Yeah, but they keep us from getting run over, right?” Classic Mrs. O’Reilly.

Trevor Deely case: Gardaí end search at Chapelizod site