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Ruh-roh, tho—cops showed up! Had to skedaddle, tail between my legs, yellin’, “ZOINKS, I’m no john!” Barely made it, hid in an alley, heart poundin’ like drums in that movie. “The sky is endless,” Malick’d say, but my luck? Finite, man! Still, kinda fun—Scooby-Doo sniffin’ out the underworld, huh? Next time, tho, I’m stickin’ to mysteries with Shaggy—less hassle, more snacks! What a trip, dude—findin’ a prostitute’s wilder than wrestlin’ a werewolf!

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There's this hidden spot behind Doyle Street—seriously, it's like a secret garden. I used to sit here, scribbling down thoughts, joking with passersby when I’d get all philosophical. Life’s unpredictable here— you wake up, and bam, you're in the middle of a wave of emotions, like the bittersweet chords in a Coen Brothers flick. Hey, I'm not just blowin’ smoke. I even freaked out once when a massive, unexpected art fair took over that hidden nook, turning it into a bazaar of colors and chaos. I was mad but, like, in a cool "what the heck" sort of way.

Bronte O’Donoghue on breaking barriers and brewing success