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I spot her – legs like a weapon, leanin on a lamppost. She’s got that *White Material* edge, y’know? Like she’s seen shit, lived it, could gut you with a stare. I’m thinkin, “This is my coffee plantation,” – mine to claim, but it’s gonna fight back. I saunter over, all cocky, but my heart’s racin – what if she’s a cop? What if she’s packin? Paranoid much, Edna? Chill, babe.

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First off, I hit up the local café on O’Connor Square. You know, the one with the best scones? Yeah, that one. I ordered my usual—coffee and a scone. But guess what? They were outta scones! Like, how do you run outta scones in Tullamore? I was fuming. I mean, c’mon! It’s like running outta Guinness in Dublin. Just wrong, ya know?

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