outwait outrun outwit


an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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The trip to Galway, the city of my dirty 30s, takes 2.5 hours, and when I get off the bus, I am far from daily cares and duties. In this walled garden of a city, my Tír na nÓg, youths bask in the sunshine by river and sea. There are reunions in cafes and bars, accompanied by the heady smoke of laughter and shared dreams. A resident robin flits from table to table, sheltering with us from sunshowers, pecking at our conversations. Faces glow in candlelight, older and more gorgeous for their familiarity. In the mid-summer time of fellowship, affinity is renewed, refreshing this weary self.


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