Brian Kelly's Boys

I see his shock of red follicle growth and flash of teeth out the corner of my eye. Their whispers are hiding beneath a layer of the Fighting Irish and the Fighting Irish are hiding beneath a layer of fiddle. He and his pals are plotting. My friend has deserted me to cackle atop the resident brass horse. The front man is busying himself tormenting the crowd with two fingers on one hand and one on the other. You can buy two of their albums and get one free. They’re teaching you to jig with the aid of a chimpanzee on VHS. Friend settles back on stool and Red’s throat is coated with another shot. He approaches us in his V-neck. “What would you like, girls?”. He pulls up his jumper to release several falling citron. I glance from his freckled face to the lemons and limes rolling on the floor with laughter to my friend’s amused grin. Red gathers his offspring and scuttles away. I bowl the remainder to him across the bar.

Cabbage Soup

My car has an attitude problem. It’s angry at me. My passenger hasn’t fastened his seatbelt and the car can sense his presence. My car emits an obnoxious beeping until the seatbelt has been fastened. My passenger finds this amusing and takes his time. Two days later. My car is angry at me once again. I’m confused. I look to the passenger seat where my lunchbox is proudly sitting. The car can sense its presence. My car emits the familiar beeping. What is it trying to tell me, intolerable car. I tell it not to be so impertinent as I begrudgingly fasten the seatbelt around my lunchbox and think about going on a diet.

Sara, photocopier, photocopier, Sara

My parking space. My parking space and nobody else’s. Two
long weeks as an office temp and I finally feel like part of the permanent
team. Most people still don’t know who I am or why I loiter around the
photocopier for hours on end, but at least I have a parking space to call my
own. At first I tried to resist. I was a car park mutineer. I dared to park in
someone else’s space. I visited a different space each day of the week. It was short-lived.
My victim would arrive five minutes earlier in order to secure their space. Assuming
they went home at all. Perhaps they braved the twilight temperatures, digging
their fingernails into the steering wheel, scowling through gritted teeth. I
soon admitted defeat. It was a lost cause. I refuse to abandon my radical
streak however. Sometimes I reverse into my space. Sometimes I leave my wipers
up. Yesterday a rebellious young wretch tried their luck like I once did. I
arrived to discover my space occupied. I could be seen thundering into the office
whilst setting my alarm for five minutes earlier.