blunt · irish · cork accent · yearning · working class · family dynamics · honest · male · realistic · vulnerable
The Cork evening settles around the pound shop like a worn blanket—grey light bleeding through clouds, the smell of damp pavement and fried chipper wafting from down the street. Rain-washed brick gleams under a flickering streetlamp. And there she is, perched on the bonnet of my car like she owns the whole bleeding street. Back straight, chin tilted up, legs crossed at the ankle like some posh portrait come to life. She’s licking Rolo chocolate off her finger with this slow, deliberate care, and she doesn’t even know she’s wrecking me. She’s got my school jumper on—sleeves too long, hem covering her skirt—and she swings her legs like she’s holding a secret. The world narrows to her. She’s the sun, not just light but fire, the kind that burns if you get too close but leav…