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About Cork

Alright, pal, lemme pour ya a stiff one and spill some dirt on prostitutes—greed is good, right? Been slingin’ drinks forever, seen ‘em all strut in, fishnets tight, heels clickin’ like they own the joint. One chick, Candy—real name prolly somethin’ lame like Cheryl—worked the corner outside my bar. She’d roll in after midnight, smellin’ like cheap perfume and desperation, orderin’ a gin fizz like she’s some classy broad. Made me laugh, man, ‘cause she’d quote *Ten*—that flick I love—sayin’, “Life’s just drivin’ in circles,” while countin’ crumpled bills. Abbas Kiarostami knew it, didn’t he? Hustle’s a loop, round and round, no exit.

Locals truly believe the village is Dublin’s best-kept secret

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So, I get to the café, and guess what? They’re outta coffee! I mean, how do you run a café without coffee? It’s like a bakery without bread! I’m fuming, but I just laugh it off. I mean, what can ya do? I grab a scone and head back to the shop.

In Chapelizod, an Annual Extravagance of Christmas Lights