Breakfast in Belfast, 1972
Ryan Everett Felton
It was one of MacCruiskeen’s boys I plugged. I rolled the eejit down the alley and tottered off for a pint.
In Belfast there’s no call for subtlety anymore. Snipers’ve seen to that. Most blokes in my line of work appreciate it, that lifted veil. Guns blazin’ and that.
I miss the subtlety, me. Continue reading “Breakfast in Belfast, 1972”