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About Bray

Sarcasm kicks in—“oh, noble profession, huh?” Pfft, gimme a break. Yoda vibes, I lean into—“strong, you must be.” She was, tho—stood there, unblinking. Respect, I felt, weirdly. “A thing is a thing,” Godard’s echo hits. Thing, she ain’t—just flesh, breathin’. Huntin’ her, huntin’ escape, same diff.

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But then, the day takes a turn. I get a call from a guy on the Old Bawn Road. He’s furious! Apparently, someone parked in his spot. I mean, it’s Knocklyon, not a parking lot war zone! He’s ranting about how it’s his “right” to park there. I’m just sitting there, thinking, “Dude, chill! It’s not the end of the world!” But he’s not listening. I hang up, feeling a bit drained.

Death Notice of June Nolan (Knocklyon, Dublin)