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About Swords

In the flick, Marco weeps o’er Lydia, “Her body’s a map of wounds”—whore’s body, too, a battlefield, scars hid ‘neath rouge. I’m gutted thinkin’ it, how she’s mocked, yet craved. Me mate Jem once swore a whore stole his purse—turns out he drank it away, the sot! Laughed me arse off, I did. But serious now—dost thou see her? Not just a trollop, but a player in life’s mad masque. “Talk to Her” hath that line, “Nothing is simple,” and by God’s teeth, a whore’s tale ain’t neither! She’s a riddle, a rose with thorns, prickin’ thee to ponder.

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But then, I see a group of tourists. They’re lost, lookin’ for the train station. I’m like, “You guys need a map?” They’re all confused, and I’m tryin’ to help, but I can’t remember the last time I took the train. I’m like, “Uh, just head down that way, I think?” Classic me, right?

Upgrade of main road into Cobh 'will cost hundreds of millions' and start in next decade, council told