David Keenan's Tour Diary Part 7: Monroe's, Galway

Where I was stripped bare for the seventh time.

How are you ?

Where have you been since we last held court ?

I’ve been busy blackening pages, observing the changes in nature, running the roads.
Skin head crows patrol the skies above us eyeballing those who toil in housing estates across the land, building pyramids of golden cigarette sleeves on concrete due to the lack of soil. I can see it now.

A serendipitous current is running through me today.
Galway has been good to me.

Monroe’s - memories of an eighteen year old kid spending his Dole following Steve Craddock from Dundalk to Galway by bus on the promise of a support slot, it didn’t happen and I ended up staying with friends in Letterfrack for the guts of a week.
It was the darkest place I’d ever been, you couldn’t see the hand in front of your face at night, shuffling slowly out in search of supplies, cheap cider, songs by the fire, barren beauty though a real sadness still clung