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About Dundalk

Favorite flick, *The Pianist*, pops in—Szpilman’s line, “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, stubborn as hell. Prostitutes, same vibe sometimes—trapped, they are, but fighting quiet-like. Met this gal once—Lola, she called herself—sassy, loud, missing a tooth. “Yoda, baby, you paying or praying?” she cackles. Laughed, I did—happy moment, rare it was! Told her, “Credits, I have not—wisdom, I offer.” Rolled her eyes, she did—said, “Wisdom don’t pay rent, shorty.” Fair, that is!

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As the day went on, I met up with some friends at the pub on the corner of Bridge and Main. We were just hanging out, laughing, and sharing stories. I told them about the bike dude and the kid with the football. We were all cracking up. Then, outta nowhere, the bartender brought us a round of shots. I was like, “What’s the occasion?” He just winked and said, “It’s Nenagh-Bridge, mate. Every day’s an occasion!”

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