The only thing I remember between deciding to go back out and getting on the ferry the next evening was being woken up in the middle of the night by a bunch of rowdy Austrailians.
The next morning and afternoon are just a blank...memories that have slipped beyond my reach. It's frustrating because I know I didn't teleport from Dublin to the middle of the Irish Sea, none the less we re-join our story in front of a slot machine on the boat.
I had about 14-15 pounds in my wallet when I left Ireland. We were suppossed to make it to Holeyhead just in time to catch the train. I figured 9 or 10 quid would be more than enough money for spending the morning in an airport...besides what if I won? I could stay a few days in London before heading back...in my mind the narrative of the last few days had been building to just such a moment...I'll hit the jackpot! Whoo Hoo...drinks for everybody!!! I'll be at the Number One in Kings Cross when I wake up tomorrow just in time for some of that mushy sausage and beans...It was gonna be AWESOME!
No it wasn't. I didn't win. I lost.
Now I was down to it...if I didn't get back in a few days I was in trouble. I was barely eating as it was, and there was no chance of me paying for another bed. I needed to be on the on the train that night. I looked up at the clock on the wall...it was gonna be tight.
It was one of the lonleist moments I can remember...standing on the platform watching that train dissapear into the darkness.
Holyhead is a desolate hole even when you're not broke, tired and beginning to be overcome by panic. In fact, it's a desolate hole when everything is good.
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