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About Dundalk

She’d tell me stories—little known stuff, like how some prossies in the 1800s carried tiny pistols in their garters! Badass, huh? Said it kept the creeps in line. I’d picture her, smirkin’, “I run things my way,” echoin’ Malik’s vibe in *A Prophet*—that “I’ll do what I gotta” attitude. Surprised me, her smarts—hustlin’ ain’t just legs, it’s brains! She’d dodge pimps, stash cash—once hid 500 bucks in a tampon box, swear to God! Laughed my ass off at that!

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So, I’m rollin’ outta bed, right? The sun’s peeking through my curtains on Main Street. I’m like, “Cool, let’s grab a coffee at the café on the corner.” You know the one, right? The one with the weirdly named pastries? Yeah, that place. I get there, and the line is out the door! Like, c’mon people, it’s just coffee!

Death Notice of Patrick Healy (Loughrea, Galway)