O'Connell Street Stream of Conscious

June 22, 2012

Walking out of Eason’s book store on O'Connell Street was the second time since my time in Ireland I’ve walked into a shop off a dry street and walked back out to a soaked street, the wet sidewalk being the only indication it had actually rained. I had thought Grafton Street was the busiest street in Dublin, but its turns out O’Connell street is both the largest, and busiest. Currently I’m jamming to The New Deal with my iPod at the base of the spire, a pin-like monument that upon completion in 2003 was deemed the world's tallest "sculpture". I’m slouched with my back against the metallic structure, knees bent over a ring of cement grooves filled with the following discarded items from most prevalent to least; gum, cigarette butts, leaves, black olive slices, more gum. Still, I could sit here forever and watch the people who stream up both sides so close in proximity you'd think the Phillies had just won the pennant. This pigeon by my toes thinks I’m gonna give him some food, fuck that. Just as I focus on the bright orange lifesaver thats his eye, he flys away. Two girls walk in front of me, one with blond, the other with dirty blond hair, each sucking cigarettes behind a weathered old man in a leather trench coat selling lilies “5£ a bunch”. Who the hell is this mans clientele? These girls? One has dyed red bangs that contrast sharply with the others light blue yoga pants. They are the epitome of 21st century Irish youth. I feel like they could be performers in cirque du soliel. Maybe they are? Who am I to judge anyway. I’ve now situated myself in a mostly dry spot, back against the platinum spire, butt on the grooves seeing the world from the perspective of a delirious vagabond. The bobbing of my head must concern some people, but not my people. I forgot my iPod was switched to shuffle and The New Deal jam comes to an unforgiving halt. It makes room for a Notorious B.I.G. song (Who Shot Ya). Very fucking coincidental, because this song is reminding me of a pretty vivid dream I had last night where I erected an odd, sculptural interpretation of Biggie above a Walmart store that was missing its sign. I did not inform Laurie this was the reason I had been late to class this morning. An almost normal looking lad with a Patagonia jacket and some busted teeth just came up to me. He acknowledged my pen and paper, kindly excused himself of any interruption and explained his need for coin in order to pay for a hostel tonight. I replied I had spent my last Euro on letters sent home to America (true story). I immediately regret not inviting him to sit down next to me in order to reflect upon this transforming city and hear what kind of crazy shit he’s been through. A little ironic I had just described the feeling of being homeless, now being asked by a homeless man to help find a home. Goddamn I could sit here all day and write about the shit I see, hear, think. However, the florist just wheeled his cart away and the lasses smoking heaters have left as well. The middle section of O'Connell Street is now eerily vacated. Live Dave Matthew's just came on, some "Dancing Nancies". Relevant lyrics; "Could I have been anyone other then me?"