Nice Guy

I open the door for you, not because I am a nice person.
I smile as you walk past, not because I am a nice person.
I say you look nice, not because I am a nice person.
But because I want you to see me as a nice person.
Then I can see that too.

Pfenning for Your Thoughts?

When the honours system was first introduced on the Munich underground system in 1982, the one person to abuse it was nineteen year old student Colm Regan from Roscommon in Ireland.
Thirty years on and Colm felt Ireland's financial bailout, spearheaded by the European Central Bank in Frankfurt, was perhaps a grotesque example of Karma at work.

Anything The Matter?

"I think I might have ADHD, Dad"
"You don't have ADHD son".
"But look at me, look. I keep jumping around. Can't stay still. I'm all over the place".
"We got all the tests done, remember"?
"Maybe it's OCD".
"It's not OCD".
"Could be Tourettes, couldn't it"?
"You were tested for that too and Aspergers and anxiety and Williams syndrome. It's all in your head".
"That's typical that is. You're only saying that because I'm gay". 

Fox In The Hood

Out of nowhere he seemed to appear.
Tail hanging low, head bowed, vigilant eyes darting from left to right.
Thin. Aware.
Young and stupid or old and desperate. One of those combinations had brought him to the point where he skulked between the houses on Jameston Road.
No longer his patch but rich with the history of his ancestors.
Their proud stomping ground, where legends were made.
Now home to the conqueror.
Gaunt, wary and fatigued - back to scavenge in a final tragic quest for scraps or defiantly re-claim what once belonged to his type.
This was ours - and it was great.

Snapshot

Sally Gap, County Wicklow, Ireland.
October, 1883.
Evening.
Dark. Cold. Windy. Barren. Empty.
Far away, a two room cottage. Half way up a shaved slope. Moonlight accentuating the grey walls and thatched roof.
Smoke trailing from the stump of a rooftop chimney. Towards the stars.
Silence. Routine. Life.
He spat and continued walking.

Can't Believe Your Eyes

“If you look to the left…now to the right. Excellent. I’m going to ask you to look forward now and tell me what letters you see on the bottom line”.

They said S-H-I-T.

I could see the four letters on the bottom line clearly.

Shit.

I couldn't say that out loud.

No way it could actually say that, could it?

Unless they did it on purpose – as part of the test. To see if people would say it even though they were sure it must be wrong.

“S-N-L-T” I said.

That’s how I ended up with the wrong prescription.

A Raise.

Asking your boss for a raise is never easy. Maybe your work hasn't warranted extra pay or perhaps he literally can’t afford to hand out any more and maybe you should just be content to at least be earning and be grateful for that.

What if he freaks and tells me to get out. Then what?

On the other hand, I know we can’t survive much longer on what I’m earning. Rent has gone up, kids need school books, and winter’s on the way so there’ll be heating bills.

He looks at me – his expression a mixture of pity, sadness and regret with a small but noticeable amount of resentment creeping in.

Time to pull out the secret weapon.

“I drew you a picture”.

On an A4 sheet of unruled white paper, a blue and red crayon drawing of a little boy in a cowboy hat sitting atop a horse.
He looks at it. For quite a while.

A single tear emerges from his left eye - slowly rolling southwards.

“It’s a cowboy on a horse” he whispers.

He always wanted to be a cowboy on a horse.

The extra two fifty an hour will see us through until March.