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About Cork

Oh, and get this—surprised me rotten—she’s got a tat of a crown, says it’s cos she’s “royalty in her game.” Proper Tenenbaums vibe, all quirky and grand. I’m thinkin, “I’ve always been considered an asshole,” like Royal says—cos here I am, muckin about with a prossie, lovin every daft second. It’s messy, it’s mad, but blimey, it’s alive—ain’t that the point?

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Anyway, I finally make it to the shops. I’m grabbing some milk and bread, you know, the essentials. And then I see this old fella, Mr. O’Reilly, trying to carry his shopping. He’s struggling, bless him. So, I rush over, “Here, let me help ya!” He’s all grateful, and I’m feeling like a hero for a sec. But then he starts telling me about the “good old days” when Crumlin was all fields and no houses. I’m like, “Yeah, mate, but I kinda like my house.”

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