A busker is wailing his heart out to an audience of absolutely no one as drivers and pedestrians go about their business on a Dublin sidewalk. His brow furrowed and throat straining, he espies a stoop-shouldered addict, cigarette dangling from his lips, stumbling out from a little alleyway where he has just relieved himself against a graffiti-laden wall. Still wailing (“…the healing has begun…”), the busker keeps a wary eye out for the addict, who is milling about in front of the busker’s open guitar case pretending to enjoy the music.
As the addict stoops to ostensibly tie his sneakers, the busker stops singing momentarily and utters words of warning that he will chase him down if the addict dares to snatch whatever meager reward may be lying about in the guitar case, which is the very picture of “not overflowing with bills.”
The addict protests, mills about a bit more, then pounces, swooping up the enti...
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