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July 20 - August 6, 2020
“You do realise that just saying ‘no offence’ does not magically make whatever you say inoffensive?”
If you want the honest-to-God truth, most people have a lot they want to say and not that much they want to hear. ”
the frail figure sitting up in the bed wasn’t long for this world. He looked like a big man that someone had let the air out of.
The man grinned like minimum wage workers wore seasonal fancy dress; as if he were being forced to comply with a memo from head office.
The sky was the colour of wet newspaper,
His face was a shade of red you only generally found on a baboon’s arse
Bunny had beady jet-black eyes that never looked in the same direction, thanks to the left one being lazy. It gave the disconcerting impression that one of them was keeping lookout while the other went about its nefarious business.
The woman had given birth to and raised four kids, all of whom he loved and three of whom he liked.
In the meantime, he was dotting the ‘I’s and crossing the ‘T’s, waiting for the S and the H to show up.
At times like this, it was hard for him to run from the suspicion that he might be an idiot.
“I defuse bombs” – those three words had to make panties drop. Lucky sods.
they locked eyes, or at least Wilson tried to. The man’s left eye was lazy, which left Wilson unsure of exactly where to look.
It was only enjoyable checking for homicidal maniacs tailing you when you didn’t really believe deep down that they’d be there.
Duncan spoke in the kind of accent that came from a whole different Dublin to the one Paul had grown up in. His was a Dublin of leafy suburbs and private schools. The Dublin where drinking a bottle of vodka and then chundering in the back seat of a taxi made you a ‘legend’. Paul came from the other Dublin. The same one as the poor bastard who had to clean the taxi. “Small
Breasts that looked so impossibly pert, they reminded Paul of intensely interested meerkats.
It was only when she looked into those eyes that Brigit pushed her estimate of Choi’s age from mid-thirties to somewhere over fifty. Something in them hinted at the kind of tired that never went away.
The tables inside had that kind of finish you only get by spilling beer on varnished wood a thousand times, and the carpets showed damage that pre-dated the smoking ban, if not the Easter rising.
O’Rourke could never tell when Bunny was really angry, and when he was just pretending. He was getting an unpleasant sensation of déjà vu. That old sickly feeling that every conversation with Bunny McGarry was a game of Russian roulette.
The man’s arse reeked like something had crawled up there and died a slow and painful death by cabbage.
what their offices lacked in space, they made up for in dinginess.
