Dubliners by Night

I'd say it's been a really long while since I've felt like writing. I walked in with the Nappa Dori knock offs because they made me feel as confident as wearing the originals, and searched for him. He insisted he sat towards the right so my eyes searched, however all I saw were mirrors. Then he pulled aside a velvet maroon curtain and smiled at me. I followed him inside and sat at a table that had 2 pints of Guinness laid. I hadn't realised how perfect a start this had already been. Hi, I'm Jack; Jack from The Titanic. I made a small comment about something mundane and we both shared a short laugh that quickly turned into long threads of conversation that wove from one to the next as effortlessly as waves build up. We shared stories of riots, goof and pain and all of a sudden the hour hand had moved halfway across the clock and I had to remind myself to put on both my shoes, so he wouldn't have to come in search of me. But he insisted on sharing the walk back home and as we paused near the bridge and hugged farewell, two Dubliners shared an intimate moment. But she had to pull away for fear of giving away too much, and as she rushed up the stairs all he saw was a shy girl sprint away with a part of him. He ruffled his hair and walked back towards Rathfarnham.

Home away from home

I'd walk by the street of what used to be my city until a year ago with a sense that didn't match how I'd like to have felt. Now, a year down time I have a new place I call home. Every bar and pub down the street from home feels like a character come alive from a book. Each one draws me in with an impending sense of suspense. I know a story must be had from a visit to each; I find it extremely conflicting to choose which one I'd like to savour this day. Home feels like I'm alive in a Charles Dickens novel, but maybe I'll call out to Heaney soon enough.