“My house, my rules!” he’d roared.
My legs complain of the extended sitting of the journey, the chill no one else seems to acknowledge, the vibrations of the traffic.
Deposited among chaos and unconcern by a cabbie who’d taken money I’d put aside for a meal, I reappraise father’s “tyranny”.
Irish writer Perry McDaid lives in Derry under the brooding brows of Donegal hills which he occasionally hikes in search of druidic inspiration.
AN ELEGANTLY WRITTEN PIECE. IT’S BEEN A LONG TIME
Another elegantly written piece. It’s been a long time since “A Honeymoon Walk.” More, please.
Thank you, Alex, I will try to oblige :)
It sounds like the character’s between a rock and a hard place if ever he/she was. Nice take!
Thank you, Connell