I met Clara because of a story I made up. That sounds romantic now, but at the time it felt like being caught stealing someone’s coat. I was thirty-two, renting a small…
I met him because I was too proud to admit I was lost. I had moved to Dublin three weeks earlier, from a small town where every road knew my name, and…
I met him on a wet Tuesday outside Connolly Station, both of us pretending the rain wasn’t as bad as it was. He had a paper bag from a bakery tucked under…
I met Niamh on a wet Tuesday evening in Dublin, the kind of evening where the rain doesn’t fall so much as hang in the air and settle into your coat. We…
The last time I saw her was at Heuston Station, standing under the big clock with a green suitcase beside her and a paper coffee going cold in her hand. It was…
I met him on a wet Tuesday morning outside the Capuchin Day Centre on Bow Street, the kind of rain that doesn’t fall so much as settle into your bones. I had…
I met her on a wet Thursday evening outside The Long Hall, though met is probably too generous a word for how it began. I was standing under the red glow of…
I met him on a wet Thursday evening outside Trinity, the kind of Dublin rain that doesn’t fall so much as hang in the air and slowly claim you. I had just…
I cancelled my wedding on a wet Tuesday morning in Dublin, three weeks before I was meant to walk down the aisle. People always imagine a scene when you say that. A…