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I was already gone.

An email to my brother, from Galway Ireland, anno 2001 —

Actually, I'm in Kilkenny now. It's a beautiful little (about 20,000 people) town in Southern Ireland. I was indeed in Galway, but didn't really like it. I found it to be a little too bustling, and, honestly, a little bit too much like Eugene/Berkeley/Boulder in its "discovered" bohemianism. Anyhow, I had a shite job there working with some right wankers; I quit that job, my third in Ireland since mid-June.

But fuck it. It's a worker's market. I had a dream after my second night of work there. I was in a pub, and this bearded smiling fellow was playing guitar with a smooth flourish, and singing a song. He sang: "How can a guy be yellow when he drinks like a fellow who is blue?" Funny huh? Well, not to ascribe meaning to a dream, but it fit with a sort of paradox between feeling unsatisfied and being afraid. I knew I wasn't happy in my job and that the best thing I could do would be to quit. I went to work the next day but chef gave me a bit of hassle for making coffee first thing "that's pretty cheeky, don't you think?" I just stood there looking at him; he had to ask me why I was just standing there looking at him. He told me I could get to work or leave. I left. He told me as I was leaving "It's a tough industry." I said I know, that's not the point. Didn't explain what the point was. Ain't worth my trouble.

Anyhow without a job, without a place to live, and Galway's okay but not comfortable, I ended up talking to a German girl for a few hours in the hostel. She helped me realize I was already out of there.

So I left.

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