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About Bray

Oh, and her smell – gin, sweat, and somethin’ sweet, like rotting flowers. Stuck with me, Clarice. Made me think – we’re all whores somehow, sellin’ somethin’ to survive. Me with my numbers, her with her body. What’s the diff? Ha! Maybe I’m just a sick bastard, seein’ poetry in the gutter. But Ruby, man… she was a fuckin’ legend. Whore or not, she owned it.

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Anyway, I’m fuming, right? I’m walking down by the river, the Avoca, trying to calm down. It’s beautiful there, with the swans and all. But then I see this guy, just chilling on the bank, fishing. He’s got this massive grin, like he’s just won the lottery or something. I’m like, “Dude, what’s your secret?” He just shrugs and says, “It’s all about the patience, mate.” Patience? In Arklow? Yeah, right.

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