stash the trash away

Bus stop. Fine mist. A boy and a girl giggle, then kiss. They run after each other and pretend to fight, then giggle and kiss again. Kittens learn through play how to chase a rat. We do small talk, pour ourselves a drink, go for a smoke, apply for a mortgage.

Parnell St. Pissing down. There is no crowd, even at crossroads. There are persons everywhere, but no crowd, even in front of Burger King. There are small raindrops on my glasses.

Grafton St. Heavy rain. I walk around looking for the pub in the wrong lane as my face gets wet. I join the company, eventually. There is a seat and a pint waiting for me in the corner, and a guy, I think he’s Bobby Peru, like the country.

Wexford St. Fat drops dripping from a leaky gutter. I don’t know what it is, that I’m talking about. This feels like sleeping, in a good way. It’s time to stash the trash away and go home. When I go paying for my burrito they tell me it’s free, it’s your tenth burrito, congratulations. Congratulations.

Westmoreland St. Cold wind. All buses have a left, they stop a taxi, how was your night, great hahahaha, then silence. I hand a tenner to the lads in the backseat, walk home, skip all the rituals and tuck myself into bed.

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