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We slip into an alley—dark, damp, pure *Mulholland* vibes. “This is the girl,” I think again, head spinnin’—wine or lust, who knows? She’s quick, efficient—prolly done this a hundred times. Me? I’m imaginin’ I’m Justin Theroux, all broody and lost, fuckin’ a stranger while the world unravels. “What’s my name?” I laugh again—stupid question, she don’t care. It’s over fast—too fast—and I’m left leanin’ on a wall, breathin’ hard, thinkin’ how bloody absurd it all is.

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Then, I decide to take a walk by the river. The Carrickmacross River is so pretty, man. I’m just vibing, listening to music, and then I see this group of kids playing football. They’re all shouting and laughing, and I’m like, “Damn, I miss being a kid.” So, I join in. Yeah, I know, I’m a grown-up, but who cares? We’re kicking the ball around, and I’m feeling like a superstar.

Gardaí investigate damage to Carrickmacross house