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About Drogheda

I tried it, alright? Got this chick, hot as hell, thought I’d be like, “The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind”—y’know, smooth shit from *Inside Llewyn Davis*. But she ghosts me! Fuckin’ pissed me off, like Llewyn losin’ that damn cat again. What’s the deal? You send a dick pic, she’s gone faster than Paulie Walnuts in a bakery. Sex-dating’s a hustle—half these profiles? Fake! Bots! Like, who’s got time for that shit?

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So, I clean up and head over to the Tralee Town Centre. It’s packed, and I’m dodgin’ people left and right. I’m tryin’ to find a gift for my sister’s birthday. I pop into this shop on Edward Street, and it’s full of knick-knacks. I’m lookin’ at this weird statue, and I can’t help but laugh. It’s a leprechaun with a big ol’ pot of gold. I’m like, “Who buys this stuff?” But then I think, “Maybe my sister would love it.”

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