O’Mera MPs locks the door behind him and steps into the street in a pristine white suit. Newsagent. Fresh copy. Blank codes.

I see the major and step into a shop. Shopping list. No need for assistance. Exit.

Check the train times. Read the news in McDaids. The Barrelhead complains over the rain. London to Manchester Piccadilly.

A gorgonzola sandwich. Crumbs. B’fhearr liom uisce beatha.

“Record Stores, Dublin”, “Mens jackets”, “Burial”. ‘Mirror.’

87 Euros. Jones set to leave. Train’s on time. Delivery address. Back into the street.

http://www.google.com/search?q=Record+Stores,+Dublin&hl=en&client=firefox-a&hs=PMS&rls=org.mozilla:en-GB:official&prmd=ivnscm&source=lnms&tbm=plcs&ei=7tP0TYG-D8a1hAfm0cXHBg&sa=X&oi=mode_link&ct=mode&cd=6&ved=0CB4Q_AUoBQ&biw=1584&bih=661).

A busker sings “Poor Paddy on the Railway”. No one’s listening to those who drop out of view.

Happy Bloomsday