I met Cian outside The Cobblestone on a wet Thursday in Smithfield, both of us pretending we were not waiting for the same late friend. He offered me a cigarette even though…

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…

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…

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…

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…

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…

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…

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…