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· · · Dublin
Dublin Burning · We were walking home to the hotel—cold but no rain on Hallowe’en—and the city sounded like a war zone, fireworks rattling and banging in every direction, pink and green lights against the sky. Down one little alley the explosions were particularly intense and I saw a wall painted in colour by leaping flames, and simultaneously firetrucks incoming. “Let’s check this out” I told Lauren and without giving her a chance to wonder if it was a good idea, headed down the alley into a different Dublin ...
Dublin in a Rainstorm · Twenty-five minutes’ slog back to the hotel across downtown Dublin, the mist turned thicker then to real rain, thank god for the Akubra but my good grey suit is drenched; the wool can take it but in my head is a loop of Sinéad O’Connor crooning Dublin in a rainstorm at the opening of Troy, that croon explodes in that song and I saw her do it once live with just an acoustic guitar, more petrifying than the record (The Lion and the Cobra), though she should have credited Yeats’ No Second Troy for the lines she stole. As for Dublin, it’s pretty nice; this note is just visitor’s impressions and a couple of snaps ...
