Wednesday, January 21, 2009
"...as I was going over the Cork and Kerry mountains"
8.38 On Time
The chap hauling a tan coloured suitcase of the type you don't really see anymore up the steps of the Pendoino has a dissolute appearance; sallow skin, bleary eyes, and dishevelled hair. The cord jacket has seen better days too. Something shakes loose in my memory and I think of the first college boy I made myself miserable over. He was dishevelled and bleary-eyed, with a cord jacket and a set of matching luggage stowed away on top of his wardrobe.
I moped over, on or around him for five months. Then stopped.
He was the sort who would either not have made it through his twenties or be running an empire by now. Or be struggling, with an overstuffed suitcase, on the steps of the Pendolino on a cold January morning after a series of unnecessary business meetings hastily arranged to facilitate an unsatisfactory Travel Lodge liaison with a woman he met on the Internet.
Or I could be wrong.
Whisky In The Jar – Thin Lizzy
The chap hauling a tan coloured suitcase of the type you don't really see anymore up the steps of the Pendoino has a dissolute appearance; sallow skin, bleary eyes, and dishevelled hair. The cord jacket has seen better days too. Something shakes loose in my memory and I think of the first college boy I made myself miserable over. He was dishevelled and bleary-eyed, with a cord jacket and a set of matching luggage stowed away on top of his wardrobe.
I moped over, on or around him for five months. Then stopped.
He was the sort who would either not have made it through his twenties or be running an empire by now. Or be struggling, with an overstuffed suitcase, on the steps of the Pendolino on a cold January morning after a series of unnecessary business meetings hastily arranged to facilitate an unsatisfactory Travel Lodge liaison with a woman he met on the Internet.
Or I could be wrong.
Whisky In The Jar – Thin Lizzy
