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LONELY NOW by DS Maolalai lonely now is a Dublin dry august; hot air, sick stains laid for days, like finishing a bad cup of coffee and seeing dark rings, tessellations, spiral to the rim. and who will know if you use the same cup tomorrow? and love, then, is washing the cup anyway. it only takes a second and then you feel clean. but love is not so lonely – no sunbaked pavement on the corner with Rathmines – like crockery, the vomit rains away.