Dublin Palms. Hugo Hamilton
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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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.
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