The Clawfoot Bathtub
<p>It was 5:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning when I stepped ashore at the Dublin docks. The early morning fog was gliding across the city’s slate rooftops, licking at windows, sliding down drainpipes until it caught in my throat, chilling my breath.</p>
<p>Dublin, dear God, did anyone ever know such a town?</p>
<p>When I opened my nostrils, I could smell the religion and reaching out, felt as if I could touch her filthy heart. One writer wrote: ‘Places have souls,’ but that writer had not been to Dublin at 5 a.m. on a Sunday morning in November.</p>
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