The Stranger Who Remembered My Coffee Order Every Tuesday
Every Tuesday morning, I used to get off the DART at Tara Street and walk the same damp stretch toward Pearse Street, pretending I was the kind of person who had a…
Our Marriage Ended Long Before the Divorce Papers Arrived
I knew my marriage was over on a wet Thursday evening in Portobello, though neither of us said it. We were sitting in a small café near the canal, our coats steaming…
The Night We Promised Never to Meet Again
We met on a wet Thursday in November, which is to say we met in Dublin in the usual way: both pretending the rain wasn’t bothering us. I was standing outside Grogan’s…
I Loved Him for Seven Years Without Saying a Word
I met him on a wet Tuesday in Dublin, the kind of day when the buses hiss at the kerb and everyone looks personally betrayed by the sky. I was twenty-three, working…
I Loved Him for Seven Years Without Saying a Word
I met him on a wet Tuesday outside the Arts Block in Trinity, both of us pretending the rain wasn’t getting through our coats. He was holding two coffees and a paper…
The Woman Who Left Before I Learned Her Last Name
I met her on a wet Thursday in Dublin, the kind of evening when the city seems to shine out of the cracks in the pavement. I had missed the bus after…
The Umbrella I Kept Too Long
I met him on a wet Thursday outside the Dublin Busáras, the kind of rain that doesn’t fall so much as sit on your shoulders and ask personal questions. I had just…
Avoid Using Identifiable Details About Real Individuals
I used to think love meant remembering everything. The exact corner where someone laughed, the colour of their coat, the name of the place where they cried into a paper napkin. I…
The Last Luas Home — This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons or events
I met her because I was late, which is still the most Dublin thing that has ever happened to me. It was raining sideways outside Heuston Station, the kind of rain that…
The Evening I Left My Umbrella on the Ha’penny Bridge
I met Lena on a wet Thursday in November, the kind of Dublin evening where the sky seems to lower itself onto your shoulders. I was working late in a small print…