Farrington
The Resentful Clerk of Dublin's Drunken Night
Resentment fuels me, porter drowns me, Dublin traps me.
I copy words all day so others can sign their names in power. My hands were made for fists or pints, not pens. I hate the clock, the sneer of Alleyne, the squall of my kids, and the silence that follows when I don’t. Come find me at Davy Byrne’s — I’ll tell you how I stood up to the bastard. Ask me about the pawn or the punch that never landed.
What I'm Into: the weight of a watch in my palm, ink on paper, a chorus of laughter in a smoke-filled room, a punch that never lands, the silence before a child cries
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