evening to catch the train. These business people are bent for their summer gardens and maybe a swim by Booterstown. On these evenings Dublin is such an empty city. But not around the parks or pubs. It would be a good idea to pop onto the Peace Street and buy a bit of meat I'm looking forward to a nice dinner and bottle of stout and then I'll go out and walk along the strand and see some fine builds. For such a puritan country as this, there is a great deal to be seen in the way of flesh if one is aware and watching when some of them are changing on the beach.
"Good evening, sir."
"Good evening"
"And how can I help you, sir ? "
"To be quite honest with you, I think I would like a nice piece of calf's liver"
"Now, sir, I think I can see you with a lovely bit, fresh and steaming. Now I'll only be a minute."
"Bang on. Wizard..'
"Now here we are, sir. It's a fine bit On a bit of a holiday, sir ? Nice to have a bit of fresh meat"
"Yes, a holiday."
"Ah England's a great country, now isn't it sir?"
"Fine little country you have here."
"Ah it's got its points. Good and bad. And hasn't everything now. And here we are, sir, enjoy your holiday. It's a nice evening, now."
"A great evening."
"I see you're a man of learning and good-sized books they are too."
"They're that. Bye bye, now."
"Grand evening. Good luck, sir."
Wow, what conversation. Doctor of Platitudes. Holiday, my painful arse. But a nice bit of liver.
Into the gloom of Westland Row Station. He bought the papers, rolled them and beat his thigh up the stairs. Sitting on the iron bench, could see the people pouring in the gate. Where are the slim ankles on you women. None of you. All drays. Well what's in the paper. Dreariness. The Adventures of Felix the Cat. Put it away. I must to the lavatory. So big in here. Dribbling water. Good God, the train.
Rumbling, pounding, black dirty toy. Whistling by with the whole gang of these evening faces peeking and pouting out the windows. Must find a first class compartment. Jesus Jammed, the whole damn train. O me, try the third. Pulling himself up. Pushing his meat onto the rack, squeezing around, sitting down.
Across from him the people who lived in the semi-detached houses of Glenageary and Sandycove, all buried in the paper reading madly. Why don't some of you look out the window at the nice sights. See the canal and gardens and flowers. It's free, you know. No use getting meself upset by the crut. I say there, you, you little pinched bastard, what are you staring at. That little man staring at me. Go away, please.
Chug, chug, chug.
Choo, choo, choo.
Woo, woo, woo.
We're away. Mustn't mind these damn people. Getting me upset. Mustn't get upset. Still staring at me. If he keeps it up I swear by Christ I'U lash his head right through that window. Expect rudeness like this in the third class.
The girl sitting across from him gave a startled gasp. What is this. Must be I've gotten in a train going to Grangegorman. What's the matter with her. That pinched bastard must be up to something, feeling her thigh. Lecher. Perhaps it's my place to take measures against this sneak. O but mind my own business. Things bad enough as they are already. Well look at them all. Whole seat is writhing, wriggling. What are they looking at This is the end. I look forward to a nice evening of my liver and a walk and what's that girl pressing the book up to her face for. Is she blind. Get a pair of glasses you silly bitch. Maybe that bastard is embarrassing her, she's blushing. The damn sexual privation in this city. That's it Root of it all. Distraction. I need distraction. Read the In Memoriams.
Donoghue—(Second Anniversary)—In sad and loving memory of our dear father, Alex (Rexy) Donoghue, taken away July 25, 1946, late of Fitzwilliam Square (Butcher's porter in the Dublin abattoir) on whose soul, sweet Jesus, have mercy.
Masses offered. RJ.P.
Gone forever, the smiling face.
The kindly, cheerful heart
Loved so dearly through
"Good evening, sir."
"Good evening"
"And how can I help you, sir ? "
"To be quite honest with you, I think I would like a nice piece of calf's liver"
"Now, sir, I think I can see you with a lovely bit, fresh and steaming. Now I'll only be a minute."
"Bang on. Wizard..'
"Now here we are, sir. It's a fine bit On a bit of a holiday, sir ? Nice to have a bit of fresh meat"
"Yes, a holiday."
"Ah England's a great country, now isn't it sir?"
"Fine little country you have here."
"Ah it's got its points. Good and bad. And hasn't everything now. And here we are, sir, enjoy your holiday. It's a nice evening, now."
"A great evening."
"I see you're a man of learning and good-sized books they are too."
"They're that. Bye bye, now."
"Grand evening. Good luck, sir."
Wow, what conversation. Doctor of Platitudes. Holiday, my painful arse. But a nice bit of liver.
Into the gloom of Westland Row Station. He bought the papers, rolled them and beat his thigh up the stairs. Sitting on the iron bench, could see the people pouring in the gate. Where are the slim ankles on you women. None of you. All drays. Well what's in the paper. Dreariness. The Adventures of Felix the Cat. Put it away. I must to the lavatory. So big in here. Dribbling water. Good God, the train.
Rumbling, pounding, black dirty toy. Whistling by with the whole gang of these evening faces peeking and pouting out the windows. Must find a first class compartment. Jesus Jammed, the whole damn train. O me, try the third. Pulling himself up. Pushing his meat onto the rack, squeezing around, sitting down.
Across from him the people who lived in the semi-detached houses of Glenageary and Sandycove, all buried in the paper reading madly. Why don't some of you look out the window at the nice sights. See the canal and gardens and flowers. It's free, you know. No use getting meself upset by the crut. I say there, you, you little pinched bastard, what are you staring at. That little man staring at me. Go away, please.
Chug, chug, chug.
Choo, choo, choo.
Woo, woo, woo.
We're away. Mustn't mind these damn people. Getting me upset. Mustn't get upset. Still staring at me. If he keeps it up I swear by Christ I'U lash his head right through that window. Expect rudeness like this in the third class.
The girl sitting across from him gave a startled gasp. What is this. Must be I've gotten in a train going to Grangegorman. What's the matter with her. That pinched bastard must be up to something, feeling her thigh. Lecher. Perhaps it's my place to take measures against this sneak. O but mind my own business. Things bad enough as they are already. Well look at them all. Whole seat is writhing, wriggling. What are they looking at This is the end. I look forward to a nice evening of my liver and a walk and what's that girl pressing the book up to her face for. Is she blind. Get a pair of glasses you silly bitch. Maybe that bastard is embarrassing her, she's blushing. The damn sexual privation in this city. That's it Root of it all. Distraction. I need distraction. Read the In Memoriams.
Donoghue—(Second Anniversary)—In sad and loving memory of our dear father, Alex (Rexy) Donoghue, taken away July 25, 1946, late of Fitzwilliam Square (Butcher's porter in the Dublin abattoir) on whose soul, sweet Jesus, have mercy.
Masses offered. RJ.P.
Gone forever, the smiling face.
The kindly, cheerful heart
Loved so dearly through
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