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Once, this dude—client, twitchy eyes—tells me, “She’s my muse.” Muse? Bro, she’s clockin’ hours! Laughed so hard, nearly choked—happy tears, tho. Surprised me, how they chat—like, real talk, not just “pay up.” One lass, Ruby, spilled her story—ran from some cult, turned tricks to eat. “Killing’s easy,” she says, “livin’s the bitch.” Straight outta Oppenheimer’s flick—“Fearful of death, they are not.” Deep, right? Messed me head up.

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Finally, I get to the scene. It’s on Castle Street. A break-in at the local jewelry shop. The owner, Mrs. O’Reilly, is in tears. I mean, I get it. She’s been running that shop for decades. I try to comfort her, but I’m not exactly a softie. “It’ll be okay, Mrs. O’Reilly,” I say, but I’m thinking, “Who the hell would rob a jewelry store in Dunboyne?”

Death Notice of Bert (Herbert) Robinson (Castlepollard, Westmeath)