Hussey's Riot: House Party
The whiskeys lined the bar. There are moans at the back but our rotgut hors d'oeuvre is mandatory. All five of us slam.
It's the last round before ditching the pub, some relic adrift on the stub end of Mare Street. You know the kind. It has odd posters of Irish castles and a clapped out clientèle. The yellow-fingered husks look at us. How curious to have their peace disturbed by our chatter, by the buzzed choices we put on the Jukebox.
'Take my Breath Away! do do do-doo-do-do'