Again sitting at the bar beer often spilled and dried hard on the polish of the solid oak life sustain as I see a tiny fly walk on this bar I wonder how many poignant tears have diluted the stale alcohol not my own public displays of sadness are not for me or anyone else I know but one day a poor fool from Donnybrook sat next to me and told a tale of love a love he lost but in my opinion, never gained his girlfriend left him for a close friend his unrecognisably disguised accent told every minuscule detail finally a tear fell from this f**ker’s eye to the bar it was somewhat large and landed on the tiny fly his weak legs could not break him free and so he drowned to me, this was the real tragedy.