I lost my wallet on a wet Thursday evening in Dublin, the kind of rain that doesn’t fall so much as hang in the air and slowly enter your bones. I had…

I was eight when I decided my mother needed flowers. Not wanted them, needed them. There is a difference a child can feel before he has the words for it. We were…

I used to work the Sunday evening shift in a nursing home near Glasnevin, the kind of place where the kettle was never cold and the television was always a little too…

I used to get the 16 from near Dublin Airport into town for work, back when my life was held together by early alarms, instant coffee, and the hope that nobody would…

Every Friday at exactly ten past one, an elderly man came into the little café where I worked near Smithfield. He wore the same brown wool coat, the kind that had gone…