01:14
In Dublin's fair city
Where the girls are so pretty
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly
Malone
At the top of Church Hill, three
streams of traffic plus the back door of the world's original
military barracks meet at the small crossroads. There Molly stands
and stokes another cigarette. The barracks are obsolete now but the
corner isn't. She pulls back the frock of her coat to flash a bit of
thigh. Headlights peel around the bend. She flicks her auburn hair
and thrusts her pelvis toward the faces leering at her. A night
crawler slows but lumbers on. The butt flickers in the so'westerly,
illuminating her pock-marked mouth. She smiles slatternly, nodding to
the cruisers with a 'fuck me' tick. Quite the bit of traffic about
tonight. It won't be long before someone drops the clutch.
01:41
A white van slows to a stop. Window
rolls. Molly goes over. The whirling, whuckling sounds of the diesel
engine throbbing. Tradesman's livery. A brief conversation at the
kerb. Molly gets in and they drive.
02:11
It's twenty-or-so minutes later. She's
walking down the Hill, smoking and speaking into her mobile. In the
other direction, from the dark horizon of the quays, a cream-cracker
appears with a phone in his ear.
They rendezvous on the street below,
right outside my window where my lights are dimmed. She hands him a
note. He pinches her a dime bag. He's stocky. Shaven headed. Twenty
two going on thirty nine. Each goes back the way they came.
It’s ten minutes later. Molly junk
walks down the hill, wearing a crooked smile. She is as high as the
lights on The Spike. She's not smoking this time.
02:50
The Internet. It's all bets and sex.
