Sunday 12 October 2008


When I was 18, part of my extended scene included a dude called Pedro. He was about our age, probably 20, and he was homeless, living by selling and taking drugs, knocking on his clients and friends’ doors at 2 in the morning, asking if he could sleep on the couch. He was a friend of Tadhg, who shared a flat with Caroline and me.

I remember him calling and asking me to just look at his eyes, as he looked up to the light, his pupils huge and wide and black. Six tabs, I’ve just taken six tabs of acid, he said. I kicked him out. He stayed for a game of Trivial Pursuit once and I remember being amazed by his ability to answer every question and take the game comfortably. I hope he got hip to "Who wants to be a millionaire?" when it came around. Pedro. I met him on Grafton Street, or maybe it was Camden street, about 3 years ago, in 2005. I was so surprised to see him, even more surprised that I recognised him, I hadn't thought of him even once since then. Pedro! I shouted, and went to greet him. He looked at me with horror. Don’t call me by that name. That’s not my name anymore. My name is Peter.

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