He saw a picture of you today. Still there on Abbey St. Blonde hair like straw thatched out from under the rain soaked brim of that old black hat. There was mud on your wellies, there was a crooked smile on your face as if some wonderful power of secrets about to be told… and left to silence. How many years, how many miles, how many faces, strangers and places so called home? In a punch full of tears all at once he knew it wasn’t himself or them or even you but Dublin broke his heart.