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How on earth I recognized her was beyond me. She was so different from back then, bent over like someone had destroyed any happy emotion supporting her front. This made me question my own eyes, as it seemed impossible the girl she seemed to be could express unhappiness. That seat next to her called to me. The orange sodium illumination of the streetlight, perhaps mixed with some tint of moonlight, bid me sit next to her. What manner of twisted fool is called to sit next to someone like her, by a city streetlight, no less? This manner of fool. ‘Danielle?’ I asked tentatively. Danielle . Never ‘Dani,’ Danielle. What a fitting name. She had been the ‘Hot girl’ of our high school class. Queen Crap of Shit Mountain. Popular, beautiful, and exuberantly happy. Everything that every girl wanted to be, and everything that the boys wanted to fuck was Danielle Carter. ‘Toby?’ She looked up at me. She remembered my name? Remembered, hell, how could she have even known my name? We’d never really. ’ says Adams. ‘Republicans and loyalists without fear or favor?’ Adams says: ‘Yep.’ McGuinness has doubts but goes with the flow. Adams anticipates his demurral and adds: ‘We’re equal opportunity terrorists.’ McGuinness says: ‘Yep–kill ‘em all . . . what the feck.’ Adams turns distractedly to look over his shoulder and says to no one in particular: ‘Is there a wee woman here to make a cuppa tea or what?’ McGuinness looks doubtful. I can just see Adams sitting behind his desk on the terrorist train as it rolls through Lambeg and Lisburn, with the driver looking into the backs of the wee kitchen houses in case some wee woman is washing her milkwhite breasts at the sink. Worth a wank. Anyway, what I mean to say is I can see Adams with his peaked hat with the red star on it saying: ‘The personal life in Ireland is dead.’ Meanwhile, the gasworks is due for gentrification. Give it a couple years and there’ll be artists, artisans, craftspeople, boutiques all over the place. Meanwhile the.
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