Bara Cailín 2: 9 ‘What use a man like me?’

What with the weeds and the new visitors the city swelled, creaking.

Crowded. Hostile. Noisome. At night the streets are lined with people trying to sleep. Or choosing not to.

Mac watched from his window. A lonely vigil. Scanning the crowds.

Hoping that one face from the thousands would speak to him.

‘I swore I would protect her,’ he sobbed. ‘What use a man like me?’

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