“I’ve told you nearly a hundred fucken times, kid. Don’t fuck with me! Just give me some fucken whiskey!”

I looked at him from over the store counter, I went to the same primary school as the guy, he was a year or to below but I remember him. He didn’t seem to have a clue who I was. Can’t blame him. I was skipping school to work, even then.

A fly could have landed on my eye, and I wouldn’t have blinked, or twitched. “Sorry sir, but you just seem a little young. I’ll need to see some identification.”

“Come the fuck,” he spat.

I smiled. Dirt could have slathered between my teeth, and it wouldn’t be much different. I put out my hand. He slammed a piece of plastic into it.

It twirled around in my fingers. I looked at it, then at him.

We’ll call him Mark. He was shorter than me, black hair brown eyes, pale skin. There was a slight twinge of life on my face. Honestly, working at this grocery store was shit, but this was something to keep me humoured.

I looked down at the plastic card, and slowly started to laugh, as I had done a hundred times before by Mark’s count. The photo pictured a man who looked to be in about his thirties, his skin was so black in the crappy fake ID that it contrasted against the white background, so no features could be distinguished.

Tripping over my words I gave it back to him, “Sorry mister, here’s your-”

He punched my arm over the counter. It stung for a second, and only caused me to laugh harder.

“You're such a fucking dick head,” he seethed.

I waved my arms defensively, still fucking with him, “Have you ever got into a club with that? Ah, nah, I’ve seen you at me girlfriend’s place, right?”

He took his bottle and went storming for the door, throwing up his black, grey hoodie. I clicked my tongue, “Aww, don’t be like that!”

I looked for my co-worker, then hopped over the counter with my arms, “Come on don’t be a fucken pussy about it. Look-” I grabbed him by the shoulder, “it’s a shit fucken job man, you get me? I don’t know, it’s just funny.”

I pleaded with him, looking into his eyes with my own dark and sunken orbs, and he replied, “You're wasting my time, cock sucker!”

I played into my role, slipping my arm off him. “Watch your tongue.” He looked down. I wasn’t smiling anymore.

To stay on his good side, I half dropped my glare, and gave him a playful tap, “Hey, look at me, look.” Half unsure he looked back up at me, “I’ll get you an extra bottle. Hard shit, the pricey stuff.”

“What, outta your pay?” It was a dumb question for him to ask. Especially since he had a good idea who I was. “No!”

I laughed, into a whisper, “You think the old fuck who owns this place cares? He’s rich compared to you and me.” A smile crept across Mark’s face.

I looped around the counter, ducking down and opening the liquor cabinet. It was a misty grey locker, no different from the rest of the store.

“Shit mate, what if you get fired?” I shrugged at that, and stood, sliding it into his hand, “Who cares. It doesn’t matter to me. Does it matter to you?”

He showed a chipped tooth, then let go of the bottle to bring me in for a shoulder bump, “I don’t care what the guys say, your sweet blud.” Mark winced a little, “Listen, I- sorry man, I didn’t mean to imply you were a pussy or somethin’.”

I coughed back, “Forget it, I mean it. Just don’t say that shit around your mates,” I grabbed at his coat, “and not around my woman, clear?” He nodded, only half forcing a smile now. I sent him away with a pat.

I stared after him for a moment. No, it’s more apt to say I was looking at the air around him. It was grey. Not just in the store, but everywhere. It was a little brighter in September, but not much.

This autumn was a clouded one.

If it wasn’t raining, it was misty, and if it wasn’t either of those then the sky was just a white sheet. The weather felt like it really was nothing.

After all these months, do you know what I noticed? The colour of the town’s lamp posts changed- the light I mean. They were dark orange before, or maybe they just seemed dark because they were on at night.

It’s mid-October now, but it doesn’t feel like it. I associate those eye straining orange lights with Halloween, because it was the only night, I was allowed out late, though I wasn’t allowed to trick-or-treat on our street specifically. That, and because black and orange is sorta the Halloween’s colours.

I could remember every single costume I ever wore on Halloween. For fuck’s sake, I made a costume every year till now...”

“I know your nervous about things, but that’s a little much, isn’t it?” I only half acknowledged my co-worker. It was special kind of struggle, trying to listen to her.

“The fuck are you on about?” I had been lost in thought, and honestly didn’t know what she was talking about.

She gave a sigh. “You just sold two bottles of whiskey to a minor,” the exasperated tone fit her, frighteningly well. So did the horribly plain blue uniform she wore, it really brought out the brain rotting, soul grating repetitiveness of our job.

Her grey-brown hair was in a short pony tail that made her look gaunt. Not like I should be throwing stones, I hadn’t slept in weeks. Luckily for me, most of the company I was reserved to keep were far worse physically dishevelled than myself.

She was supposed to be a regular girl. We both agreed on that. No weird alternate spelling of the word, just... The girl from my amazingly crappy job.

We’ll call her TGFMACJ.

She looked at me from across the counter, a mop bucket in hand. I didn’t put on any airs, “If I didn’t give it to him, he’d have got it from somewhere else. They always find a way.”

The sad face she made me angry. She couldn’t throw stones either.

Either way, I went about my business, sticking a hand into my pocket and grabbing out a hundred Euros in twenties, stuffing forty into the cash register for the ‘purchase’.

She said, “Don’t forget what he taught us. About abusing money.” There was still a choke in her voice when she thought about ‘Black hole’, the incident in Belfast

I didn’t like to think about it much either. I curled a fist. Not that it would do anything. “Watch it,” I told her. She gave a sigh and wheeled the mop bucket away.

It was a slow day, so she talked to me. I forbid her from doing it openly, I wouldn’t associate with her in front of the people of this town. Our relationship wasn’t a friendly one. We knew each other from school, and work, and that was it.

A lady walked in with her kid, walking to the back of the store.

“Restock the bleach,” TGFMACJ told me, and I pulled out my cracked phone. From a bird’s eye view, the bleach was in the north-east end, just short of the corner. “The big brand,” she added.

I just kept missing around with my phone on google maps. “Uh, huh,” I said with disinterest.

The Girl expertly checked the cash register, counting coins “2, 1, 12, 12 again...”

I looked at big towns up north, finding a town called B-a-l-l-y-bofey, “Jesus, you don’t have to do that out loud.”

The Girl closed the register with a sulk. I kept my phone out.

She perked up suddenly, “Hey did I tell you that I got my dog groomed, OMG,” she said with mock delight, and valley girl accent, solving the blank screen of her own phone in my face, “aren’t her paws soo cute?” I pushed it out of my face, putting mine away, “Alright, I get it! Fuck.”

I hadn’t noticed the customer walking up with their kid. It seemed she only half heard what I said, either way, she still furiously batted her eyelashes. I excused myself and went for storage.

TGFMACJ dropped the joking tone, her own honest amusmant at the charade dying, “Hi, would you like a plastic bag?”

I hardly heard them as I bumped through the door and out. I got to the garage door where stock gets taken in and got to work lifting boxes. Honestly, I’m still the same person I've always been, iI can’t start conversations with people, not even for work, I just let TGFMACJ handle that sort of thing and I'll do the rest.

She’ll point to the chores that need done, and I'll do them. That is unless it’s someone from the Quarter. I speak to them personally.

I thought the customer would have been long gone by the time I got back but I walked in on her, pointing fingers blindly at the door. At first I thought she might have been chewing out my trusty co-worker, then she said, “-what right does that little prick have to speak to you like that? Tell me his name love, I'll see your manager about him.”

I couldn’t help but snicker. That brought her attention to me standing in the doorway. I brushed a hand over the shaved side of my head, and up into the thicker mop on top. It wasn’t a cut I liked but it was fitting for my character.

I looked at the woman with her kid, smiling wide, “My name’s Rori, mam, is there a problem here TGFMACJ?” She looked hesitantly to the customer, then back at me, questioning both. The lady said, “I bet you have no idea what this girl has been through, not just in Belfast, but everyday. You’re the sort of lazy young man who just does whatever he wants without recompense.”

TGFMACJ looked down at the illusion to ‘black hole’, as well as her everyday life. I don’t think she’d talk to me about home even if I asked.

I told the lady, “Listen I don’t really give a crap what she’s been through, cause I’m working the same shitty job she is, understood? If you feel the need to raise a complaint with our supervisor, your better off phoning him between five and six, that’s when he’s in his office, if that’ll be all- thanks, goodbye!”

She seemed flabbergasted by me reaching the counter, grabbing her shopping and handing it to her.

As she turned, to shout at me, I repeated, “Just tell them you have a problem with Rori, trust me, he’ll know who you’re talking about. Oh, he won’t fire me. I’m the cheapest worker.”

The mother showed restraint and kept her mouth closed, though no doubt she would have slung a couple Irish sayings at me. Wisely, she tugged her son through the door.

My eyes flickered down on the five-year-old kid, so small I'd missed him before, really.

He looked back at me from under a paper mask that had been coloured in green.

It made my teeth grind.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Girl said, the anger in her voice, “I didn’t ask you to.”

I ran a hand up and down my hair again, “Maybe that lady said something to piss me off, did you think about that?”

“You’re going to get fired you stupid bastard. What are you going to do then? It’s not like you go to school anymore.” She went storming down an isle and my eyes rolled after her, “I won’t get fired. They pay me half the regular.”

She turned back around, “Sooner or later someone’s going to suspect the worst of you, with all that money you throw around stupidly. Trust me, the thugs you're getting cosy with-”

There was a ding at the door, and without looking to see who it was, she turned away from me, when she did see who it was, her eyes went dead and she went off to do her own thing.

An all too familiar voice called from my side, “You arguing with that twig again?”

I managed a smirk before turning to her.

Her boss had sent her back from Egypt a month ago with a promotion. She was working as hard as me, but you wouldn’t guess it from how she looked. She was wearing an open Prada puffer jacket, though it didn’t do much to keep her warm. She told me once that whether clothes kept you hot or cold didn’t matter in this neck of the woods. They were a symbol, they said who you were, and that’s what matters. On that we agreed.

She wore a strap top underneath to display her tattoos, she’d gotten more since last I saw her, they stretched out over her neck like a black sun and criss-crossed down to her naval in waves and bars.

She raised an eyebrow to me, whispering “I could kick her ass, if you don’t have the balls for it.”

“Fuck you,” I grinned. It seemed everything came down to shows of manliness with her. It’s weird competing with your girlfriend on that. “I’ve got two cannon balls right here.”

She bit the inside of her lip. That caused my smile to faulter a little. I realised balls were sexual, I only mentioned them because it was vulgar. It was too late now, my stupid ass had said it and she was coming closer.

I looked over my shoulder for a co-worker, but none were available. I looked back to her, barely intercepting a grapple for my balls. She seemed to like that more, and a second later she pushed her face against mine, spitting in my mouth and prodding my tongue with hers. I reciprocated.

Because she is my girlfriend.

She pulled away with a wet noise and grimaced a smile, hers was like a snarl. “You done yet? I’m hungry, let’s get something to eat.” I looked about, “Nah, I’m way to busy. Fucken pig boss killing me here. What about your bar babe? Shouldn’t you be there?”

She licked her lips, maybe savouring my taste, “You want to kill someone?”

For a moment, my face was Emmett O’Hara’s.

I soon returned to Rori, “What the fuck are you talking about, Tay.”

Tayanita caught me off guard with the question and saw an opportunity to grab my balls, just for a second. She laughed when I lurched.

“It’s a figure of speech moron. Unless?” She brushed a black strand of hair away. Sneering at me with black opal eyes.

I took an urgent tone, walking her out the door, “Yeah, yeah, fuck head, just be straight with me for once.”

Tayanita blew out her nose, “Alright listen Rori, cause I’m only going to say this once. Me and my boys are putting together a little party. Halloween. As exclusive as it gets for our rungs. There’ll be... Well, you could say service, candy, and entertainment. Bare Boxing is the main event. It’ll be better than anything that blonde cock sucking little whore ever did with the place.”

She took me back with the pure malice in her voice, but she’d spat hate like it at Clover so often that I learned not to flinch when Tayanita went at her.

“Right, what’s that gotta do with me?” She scowled when I asked, “There’s fucking money in it.”

I turned my tongue over in my mouth, but she cut me off, “You’re gonna fight, because you can, got it? Don’t try to bullshit me, you hardly flinch at anything.”

She went for my balls for a third time, and I grabbed her with a twist, she growled up at me but said, “You wanna get out of this shit hole? There’s no way you see yourself working here in five years. You only have one shot; you fight, you claw your way up, you do anything for what you want. You’re a man, aren’t you?”

I had to shut her up, she would make a scene if I let her. I grabbed her back and pulled her in again. She didn’t argue when I was rough.

Tayanita’s right. One of the only things I can do well is fight. I kissed her again, “I’ll do whatever the hell I want. I might be there, sure.”

I looked behind my shoulder and into the shop, “Did you come to buy something, or just to screw with me?” Her laugh told me enough.

“Fuck off. I’ll find you after I'm done here.” She obeyed, but only because, as she put it, “You need time to think it over. I’ll find you.” With that she was walking away, hardly a look back.

I don’t know what she sees in me.

And that’s what terrifies me.

I went back into the shop and found my co-worker behind a shelf, looking in our direction, “You’ll go to that party,” she said, “Then we can finally put an end to this.”

I frowned, “No...” I decided to break our code, hissing quietly, “I need them.”

“You know,” she started, “I always hated jobs like this. I liked my old one better. Itfelt good. It’s better than this, work for work’s sake. We stock shelves, customers clean them out, and then we gotta stock them again. It’s not worth my time, anyone’s time. You're looking for a... promotion. It’s not gonna come, not at this level, not like this.”

I swallowed. “I’ll go to the party. Get what we need to finish things, just let me see where us dating goes.”

“You’d go too deep. She’d find out who you really are before you find out where about the foreign shipments.”

I wiped at me face, clawing at exhaustion just as much as skin, “Forget it, I’m going to stock shelves till I get an honest pay check.”

She called to me as I went to greet a customer at the till, “It won’t be worth it in the end.”

I smirked at the customer, honestly. Of course none of this was worth it. I’d thrown myself into work. I’d consciously. I’ll take the money, for my mum, so that I can leave her and my granny something.

No matter what happens, I'm going to see the end.

I thought about kissing Tayanita. It made me want to close my eyes, to see a different face than hers. There was a gnawing feeling in my gut. I had a ton of unread messages from... from Clover, but I couldn’t look at any of them. She was gone. Out of my life.

No matter how many times I asked Gurl to check up on her and Feoli in Egypt, it wouldn’t make her mine. It wouldn’t earn her.

Hours passed and I whittled away at menial tasks, like TGFMACJ said I would. Shelves, customers, stock, I attended to it all quietly.

Later I'd head off to the Quarter to see Tayanita in the back lounge. She had new friends and old faces, all of them her supporters. There were the three stooges; Tyrion, the fat guy I'd seen at ‘black hole’, Malcolm, the older guy, and the freckly ginger guy who never spoke up enough to give me his name. There were foreigners that she’d met while she was on tour in north Africa, though they were from all over the world, ex-military, ex-International, they had defected from both organisations because they didn’t respect their laws or values, the restrictions.

I agreed to fight in the ring. Tayanita was right, I’m a fighter. I’ve always been able to throw and role with punches, but I'd recently learned how to take them.

I’m not afraid of my shadow anymore. For better or for worse. I’ve done worse than steal money from drug dealers, I've done worse than give a seventeen-year-old beer, what matters is that I do better.

I figured out how to get drunk too. Though, I never switch of my resistances around them it’s better that they think I can hold anything. Drinking with Tayanita always made me think back to Valentines. It seems a lifetime ago, even before I started being more Rori than Emmett.

I read the old posts. I knew I wasn’t a winner, but I never realised I was a loser, you know? There was a line I remember writing, declaring I wasn’t traumatised by anything that happened on Valentines, but who am I kidding, that made me who I am today. If I hadn’t cried for those people, I wouldn’t have raged when Grey died. If I hadn’t raged when grey died, I wouldn’t have been so chilled by Adonis’ death.

I feigned righteousness and strength, I chose to believe I was unshaking, that I alone would be a pillar for justice, because I was a golem, immutable.

Thing is, I’m soulless not mental. Provided with new information that my morals will allow me to accept, my views can change. The definition of insanity is doing things over and over again saying, ‘this time will be different, this time things will change’.

I am not insane.

I’ll except the world as it is and try to live my life...

Then again, I haven’t slept for weeks. I’ve done nothing but the same job over and over for the past couple months. Maybe I am going crazy. I was walking home after seeing Tayanita, she told me to stay at her place, but I told her I needed to feed my dog, some excuse like that, it was something stupid that she didn’t believe.

I was walking down a street with horribly bright white streetlamps, when I heard a call from somewhere. At first, I thought it was a woman screaming, but listening to it properly, it sounded like nasally laughter. Again, I was reminded of Tayanita.

I eventually stumbled out onto the street from which the noise originated, finding a group of boys in ski masks grouped around... something.

I turned away for a second, hiding behind a corner, listening to the hitting of flesh. I gaped for a moment, just hearing them laugh and taunt, “Look at the dirty fucker”, “rotten fucken wanker,” It was a hail of plain insults.

I looked at my hands, dangling at my side, fists unclenched. That disappointed me.

I felt at my face, one of them sounded like Mark. I threw a jacket on, zipped it up to my mouth and pulled a hat from my bag.

“MOVE YE SONS OF BITCHES, BEFORE I SKIN THE LOT OF YE!” It was not Rori’s voice that spoke, nor was it his body that charged at the group and shoved them off and away. Luckily for both of us, they bolted.

It seems the news broadcasts had frightened them.

I watched them disappear down the street as cars carelessly passed by the scene. I was only close to a fist, my forearms flexed and rigid, my neck was as stiff turning down to what they’d gathered around.

It was a man without a home, one with nowhere to go, no one to rely upon. He was an immigrant, a worker who’d made a leap for a better life, yet here he lay in the gutter at the feet of a piece of shit.

Cars passed, and on the other side of the street people went about their business, walking home from a late shift or stumbling back from the pub. I suppose I was doing the same. I suppose I've gotten a step closer to that calloused mindset.

The difference between me and them however, is that I am Shamrock, and I had learned the names of all these immigrants and folks without a place in this world.

I crouched at a distance, hushing, “Hey, hey- Ahmid, right? You okay? You need anything?” He got off his side, muttering something I couldn’t understand.

He neither reached out to me or backed away. There was a sway to him, and his eyes weren’t on me exactly.

I looked up and down the street, and behind my back. Then I returned to Rori, speaking clear and harsh “Here, take this, go to the shelter if you need to.”

I reached into my pocket and then for his hand. Ahmid was hesitant at first, but he opened his hand. I pressed sixty euros into it and then stood.

He understood that it was a kindness, calling after me as I strode away, masking my face as much as I could.

The next day I went to work as normal.

TGFMACJ babbled more numbers and directions and phrases, as my curiosity got the better of me.

I looked up the news on my phone, the newest story being a break in at ‘Pretty Paws Dog Groomers, Ballybofey’, a large town in the northwest of Ireland.

Apparently, they were still figuring out the situation. What they knew for sure was that there was a break in, property had been greatly damaged, and four arrests were made.

The police weren’t giving up any info, meaning it had to be linked to one of ‘John Ireland’s' copycats, as they labelled such cases.

Meanwhile me and a regular gurl with limitless periscopic x-ray vision were each two thousand euros richer, all from working an equally unending job.