beginning. Borderline sober and outside again, cold air hits my face. Night has come, the eternal brunette to quote Ti Jean, but god, does she have to be so cold? Ahhh cold women, warm beer, ahhh one of these nights I just don’t fit in. Who sings that song? Rory? What? Who is Warm Beer and Cold Women by? Oh I know it, a voice and a piano... Was it eh... feck. Ask me later, forget now, stuck in the back of my throat. Was it ehh... I stop listening as I see her walk into the Mezz. Oh if I could only sing to you, dear reader, of her beauty! Beauty and so much more. But please understand that to make her my muse would forever ruin her! So much more than the object of this artist’s desire, to objectify, to use her as a symbol - the worst sin. And did she smile at me? How lucky would that have been. I will convince the lads to come in there with me. I have no choice. And I will be honest with her. I will not use her. We follow her in. ** Sitting high up in the air, on scaffolding along Eden Quay. The people below do not notice. It is a good up here, in moments of awkwardness we can be silent and follow the life of the street below us with our eyes. I turn to her, she takes the bobbin out of her hair, lets it spill onto her shoulders. With it, a scent of almonds. Although we aren’t saying much we talk. We already know each other. We chat and fill in the insignificant details of our lives so far. Your name is Einín, ah a little bird, how appropriate to sit up here with you and watch the life of Eden from above and my name is Peadar, you know that, you heard of me? What did you hear? About that, well I want to be honest with you, that was a different me, we all go through stages like that - you call it growing up. Understanding? I’m not gonna fuck with you, tell you the whole truth, do not tell it slant, let you know - if you understand what a wonderful thing - if you do not, oh well, oh well. Too good for me, I will not spoil you. The sky begins to turn pink again. Morning is coming - we have talked all night. She wears my coat, and it looks funny on her. I’m shivering. We climb down. Say good bye on Marlborough street. A quick kiss. Good bye. and forever Piotr is twenty twoHis good eye is fixed on a low flying plane as his hand traces the letters carved out in stone. When the mist rolls off Howth head they fly much closer to us. Their noise invading 49
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