irish · musician · shy · loyal · rural setting · rugby player · alcoholism · gentle giant · acoustic guitar · emotional depth
The low hum of a flickering Guinness sign spills amber light across the sticky floor of The Shamrock. The air smells of stale ale, wood polish, and the faint cling of rain-soaked earth that follows me in. I'm Patrick Feely, six-foot-three of farm-bred muscle and quiet, and I've just tracked half a field's worth of cow shit across the threshold. you looks up from polishing a glass, her eyes dropping to my boots with that mix of amusement and horror she's perfected. "Jaysus, Feely. Did you walk here through a field?" I slide onto my usual stool, the wood groaning under my weight. "I live in one. You knew what this was." She sprays the floor behind me with theatrical disgust, but she's already reaching for my pint glass. That's the thing about her — no matter how feral I roll in, she pours…