Dublin Palms. Hugo Hamilton

      

Copyright

      Contents

      1  Cover

      2  Title Page

      3  Copyright

      4  Contents

      5  1

      6 2

      7 3

      8  Acknowledgements

      9  Also by Hugo Hamilton

      10  About the Author

      11  About the Publisher

      LandmarksCoverFrontmatterStart of ContentBackmatter

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1

      The city is full of lovers. In the park, on the grass, two of them have a small radio playing. They are singing along to the radio. Loud and exaggerated. Miming the images in the song like synchronised swimmers. They make the vaulting shape of a bridge. Their hands flutter over troubled waters. They lay their heads down to rest on folded elbows. She gives a dirty laugh and kisses the side of his face. He raises his fist in the air with a hoarse growl.

      It’s summer. I have my lunch in the park with the lovers – two slices of brown bread, a piece of Cheddar, a pat of butter from the corner shop. I lie back on the grass and listen to the soft voices around me. The sound of traffic has an interior quality, a large room with lawns and trees, enclosed by a square of terraced buildings.

I