![]() ![]() It’s you and Mush and Aidan, skinny and ruddy-cheeked, guitar cases at your sides. “Good man,” Duggan says, staring at a tattooed girl as she leans over the bar to adjust the frame of a photo by the mirror. The 12-inch cut of Isaac Hayes’s “Walk On By” booms about the walls. Tell him you’re gonna nip out for some air. You’ve lived in LA for five years, snatching visits back every six months or so. You want the profile to happen in a variety of spots around Kinlough. A Rolling Stone profile to mark the ten-year anniversary of The Other Place. This is the vibe you want when the interviewer arrives next week. The tattooed girls are smiling at you as they move their hips. Still at their tasks, but their heads are bopping. “Lonely Disco Dancer” by Dee Dee Bridgewater. Stare at the phone till you hit 100 likes. Theresa likes it within about ten seconds. Fiddle with the filters, then stick the photo on Instagram with the tag Our Theme x. A blur of bottles and bodies glows warm in the background. Take a photo of the view from the DJ booth. Affect a faraway look, like you’re seeing something on the horizon, like you’re the music. The place is a universe in the scoop of your palm. People are working with more urgency now. The synths ripple slow and the bottles on the bar quiver when Barry’s vowels shudder through the speakers. There’s a scattered applause as you connect your laptop to the PA, open Spotify, and start the playlist you’ve been working on all afternoon. I hope you’re all as excited about this new adventure as I am. I’m gonna spin a few tunes up here for a bit and say hello to each of you. The ripple of recognition moving through the place. Slowly turn the volume down so people don’t even notice it’s happening. Chin your hello to him and walk to the stage, slip into the DJ booth by the PA. Duggan is behind the bar with a notebook, taking stock. Someone’s inside the photo booth, polishing the seat. Guys dressed like Oliver Twist painting a mural of Bosco and The Morbegs in the corner where the board games are kept. Tattooed girls at the bar stuffing empty wine bottles with candles. Several projectors are in place, ’70s exploitation movies patterning up the walls. Lads with hipster beards are attaching an old bike high over the bar. Tell them to be good and cut through the road between stalled traffic, feeling eyes widen as they watch from their cars. Pause for a second to let a gaggle of girls take a selfie with you. Tonight’s about making an appearance, meet and greet the staff, take a few pictures for their socials, your socials. You want people to know this is happening. ![]() Posters for your residency on the windows-solo acoustic shows starting tomorrow night. Now you’ve swooped in with the money to relaunch the place. Flanagan’s was a legendary spot before the recession. There’s a front-facing window with a small bar, already serving takeaway pints. The venue officially launches next week, but you want to build the buzz already, so you’ve the doors wide open, allowing the music to pour out, giving people a glimpse behind the curtain into a magic you’re bringing to Kinlough. You catch the noise from Flanagan’s before you cross the road-music throbbing under the sound of drills, nails being hammered. Haven’t been able to do any workouts with this elbow on you, but when you glance at a group of young wans you catch their eyes running over your chest, your tatts. But you’ll be able to play guitar again by tomorrow, if you keep it rested. Elbow was still tender as you cut off the cast in the kitchen, the skin around it a bruised corsage. Tonight’s your first night without your arm in the sling. Is that Joe Brennan? Phones rise to take photos, and you pretend not to notice, gliding above the world, in the Other Place. Feel their energy, the rush of recognition. Faces turn to you like flowers seeking the sun. The contours of the Square shape themselves towards you. They wanna dance, they wanna sweat, they wanna fuck. Hogan’s Square is pure buzz as you walk towards Flanagan’s. His writing has been published in The Stinging Fly, The Irish Times, and broadcast on RTÉ Radio 1 and BBC Radio 4. In 2019 he was named Hennessy New Irish Writer of the Year. Walsh's short stories have won several awards, including the RTÉ Francis MacManus Short Story Prize and the Hennessy Literary Award. ![]() The following is from Colin Walsh's debut novel Kala. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |