9:00 PM

I wish there was more to tell about the city of Tralee. When you look us up on google maps all you get is some stuff about a festival where we raise a goat twenty metres into the sky, and that we have 'cultural heritage sites'.

Everywhere has cultural heritage sites. Every building is a place where someone has lived their day-to-day life. What makes these buildings in particular any different?

We aren't much of a city, compared to Dublin, let alone New York (never been, but I've seen movies, that place is huge).

For ol' Shamrock, and his dubious attempts at heroism, not a good place to set up. Tons of thin streets and short buildings for a guy who primarily travels on roofs. Trying to find spidy looking characters becomes a lot harder when you're also trying to keep balance on slanted, slippery tiles.

Crime rate is very meh, which isn't too good. Well, it is good. But not good for me, because, you know- 'Shepherd without a sheep is just a crook'.

Anybody heard that one before? Doesn't sound like it's used overseas.

Maybe I'll move to Dublin when I finish high school.

We'll see how the current situation pans out.

The Quarter is a Pub pretty popular with teens in the surrounding area. It's a place where a fresh faced 13-year-old can get a decent lager. So I've heard.

Because so many kids go here it's become a good place for druggies to get younger people into their shit- people who hang around that place after the age of 19 are real shady characters, not just the drug stuff, rarer criminal activities.

You get knife attacks now and again, or loan sharks filling up the place. Think there was something about paramilitaries awhile back.

At least I haven't seen a single bank heist, likely due to the fact that gun laws are far less loose here than in the land of the free. If I'm going to do this, I'd rather keep it simple, fighting in closed quarters with a lot of people around complicates things.

The Quarter just so happened to be on one of my favourite streets to go down.

Tall-ish buildings, smooth roofs, and a lot of druggies.

Now I don't want to point any fingers, but let's just say I haven't known many other bars named after fractionary units that just so happen to be on the same street as so many public urinations and attempted stabbings. Oh, I won't jump to any conclusions.

Well, just a little jumping.

I peered over the edge of the sports shop which acted as a wall for the narrow alley leading to a building illuminated by a green spotlight.

There was a bit of a queue beneath the corny banner, my inner art student rolling over in his grave. Not only did the cornyness make me cringe, it also killed me that whatever the banner was advertising was clearly successful.

The colours clashed, the two different fonts didn't complement each other, and the fact that the text was clearly intended to be read on a bigger banner than the one in this little hole- it urked me.

At this point in time, I didn't know how much abuse I could take physicaly, so I stepped back from the edge and ran at the other wall of the small street.

Not so much jumping off the edge, more like a basilisk lizard going over a waterfall. My arms and legs flailed a little to keep myself upright. As I slammed into the wall opposite, no sooner did I kick myself from it back to the other wall and skid down the surface.

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It wasn't that big a drop, maybe 25 feet. But I thought it might look cool to any of the people in line or serve to intimidate the bouncer.

Looking over I saw a few bored looks from a few heavily tanned chicks, and shady looking cocks. Bouncer was busy letting a few tween girls in when I did the jump.

Can't let'em break my stride though, right?

Green cape lulling behind me, I walk up to the bouncer, skipping the queue. He looked about 30, shaved head, both of his ears were cauliflowered and his nose a little off centre. A little short for his line of work, but so was I. He was definitely broader than me though, had a muscley-fatty sorta build.

"Leprechaun day isn't till Monday, mate. If you're staff, go in through the backrooms. If not, back of the line please." His Belfast accent surprised me for some reason, I don't talk to many people from way up there anymore, the unexpected 'please' at the end might have helped my reaction.

I smiled wide and filled my chest with air, "Or, how about we skip the foreplay and get straight to the part where you're lyin' fucked up on the ground, tweeddle dumb. I'm comin' in to see whoever's got you on payroll; to check out this crappy tourist trap." I pointed up to the clovers, pots of gold, and leprechauns on the sign above.

He shook his head and folded his meaty arms, "Who the fuck, d'you think you are? Get the fuck, before I wipe you, ya wee shit stain."

I could see why he was picked for this job, despite his stature, his glare could make me feel smaller.

This was how he treats honest patrons to his establishment? I don't know how this buisness is still going.

I squatted down in front of the man standing before me, reached forward, and grabbed him by his ankles. I stood up as quickly as I had squatted, arms still outstretched. He was still standing upright. Only, now he was five feet off the ground.

He wailed and flailed his arms, getting caught in the banner above.

"Oh hey! I've heard of this! Emma Stone has the same phobia! Did'ya break a bone in gymnastics class once?" I could see him grip to the banner, he became confident enough now to try and kick his feet, not that he could, with my patented super grip-strength. He started cussing and spouting what I assume were regional phrases from back home.

Eventually he tired his legs out. Maybe I squeezed too hard? Regardless, I let my arms flap to my side and walked around the bauble by the door.

As I walked into the tunnel connecting the dance floor of the Quarter to the outside world, the people who had been waiting in line, were no longer waiting. I never looked back but I heard them bump past the bouncer. Just as I got to the second door I faintly heard the ripping of fabric, followed by a definite scream. I'll have to buy him a drink later. Make up for that.

9:15 PM

It's pretty hard to see around a large crowded room, only illuminated by bright neon lights, And the ear drum busting remixes of pop 90's music, with the occasional rap track spliced between. I eventually made my way through the crowd of people to the main bar. If I was twenty years older, I would have probably thought to myself 'what are these girls dressed like that for? It's early January!'

Well, I was wearing thin green fabric for no good reason, other than the fact that it made me think I was hot shit.

I was freezing my nips in there, but professional crime fighter Shamrock was more focused on whether or not an accidental boner would be visible in the baggy fabric of his bottom half. (Not that I got a boner, I didn't, just thought I might.)

I can openly say that I get shaky around girls, especially half naked ones. You already know I can't talk-speak good-well to Mullet, what makes you think I'd be better off talking to the barmaid?

Shamrock helps. A little. Not much.

"Hey tall, dark and tattooed, I'm lookin' for clovers magic leprechaun juice!" I shouted over the music at her, realising I was being louder than needed when she replied, "Clovers dew is made from four leaf clovers, and is currently only being sold to regulars and helpers in the back, Seeing as I can't even see your face to recognise it, short, green, and stupid, you aren't getting shit."

I tried not to falter, deciding to roll for intimidation, "Your bouncer's lying in blood, sweat and tears down the hall there. Even if you don't believe I fucked him up, pretty sure you can't argue someone built like me can give you a nose like his. I don't wanna do that. So. Send me out back. We both know they're more than willing to put me in my place- or maybe six feet below it."

She met the fabric eyes of my hood; I couldn't quite make out the expression on her face.

"Sure." She motioned with her head for me to come behind the counter, so I crouch-jumped over it. Exasperated she shook her head. She couldn't be much older than me, though the sleeves of tattoos covering her arms and neck made her look more mature.

Most people who hang out in places like this drop out of school when they get the chance. Some of them went into drug dealing full time, I'd known one or two that had, but most got normal jobs, getting paid minimum wage for handy work like being an electrician. They just happened to get cooked on their off-hours. As a hobby. I guess this woman walked an interstice between the two, not directly involved in the shipping or production, but keeping as close as possible to it.

Tat, what I'll nickname this woman till I learn her name, led me around the back of the bar and down a well-lit dingy hall, which made me wonder why they'd bothered getting a light so bright, for a room stained with vomit?

We passed the stench of the employees' toilets; coming to a steel door. Tat jangled a chain of keys in an attempt to find the one to match the heavy border. She spoke to me as she did so.

"You could go back to the bar, get a girl to grind, lose the get up, stop with the flips. Maybe you'll get in a fight. You'll probably win," She found the key, "but in here that's a definite maybe. You're going somewhere beyond what most people should see, kid, and I'll only be thankful for the disappearance of the 'junkie monkey'-"

I interrupted, "It's Shamrock, figure i should iron that out early in my career-"

"Fuck up, twat." She kindly replied, annoyance clear in her voice, "You're already in that room, the second world, those who know." The door clicked. "Make it out of there alive, and she'll fuck you over, one way or another."