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About Drogheda

What’s nuts is, some prossies got stories—ran into one once (in my head, duh), and she was all, “I’m savin’ for art school!” Made me happy-sad, ya know? Like, wow, she’s hustlin’ harder than me! Oh, and don’t get me started on cops bustin’ ‘em—makes me mad, like, “Leave ‘em alone, jerks!” *Zero Dark Thirty* vibes again— “We’re closin’ in!”—but it’s just me with a net, chasin’ nothin’.

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By the time I’m done, it’s dark outside. I step out onto the bustling streets of Rathmines, and it’s alive. The lights, the sounds, the people. I love this place. I stroll down to the Swan Centre, thinking about grabbing a bite. But then I see this busker on the corner of Rathmines Road and the canal, playing the guitar. He’s got a crowd, and they’re loving it. I stop for a sec, just vibing.

Person of interest makes statement to gardaí over Rathmines hit-and-run