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About Cork

Anyhoo, she’s all, “Dolly, I reckon them workin’ gals got cash flow!” I near bout choked on my biscuit—cash flow? Honey, they’re dodgin’ taxes like I dodge a bad hair day! Made me madder’n a wet hen, ‘cause I’m over here pinchin’ pennies, and she’s dreamin’ of pimp profits. I says, “What’s your plan, darlin’? Write it backwards like Lenny’s tattoos?” She didn’t laugh—prolly don’t get Nolan’s genius.

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After I clean up the mess, I head out to deliver some pastries to the café on Chapelizod Road. It’s a lovely spot, always buzzing with locals. I’m walkin’ down the street, and I see Mrs. O’Reilly from across the way. She’s always got a story. Today, she’s ranting about the new traffic lights on the bridge. “They’re a menace!” she says. I’m like, “Yeah, but they keep us from getting run over, right?” Classic Mrs. O’Reilly.

Death Notice of Patrice McDonnell (Chapelizod, Dublin)