Revolution, 2014

Ireland, 2014


As I was upstairs in a dimly lit photography studio in Southie (South Boston to the rest of you folks), posing and modeling for no justifiable reason, The Boy was across the street having a chat with Peggy at Murphy’s Law.  When the photo shoot wrapped up, he suggested we go back and talk to her for a bit.  “She’s interested in your writing, doll.”  I was instantly curious.

It had been a long while since I had been inside Murph’s.  In that time, “Southie Rules” had gained some traction and it became the kind of place that was overrun by tourists.  And let’s not discuss how much time Ben Affleck warmed bar stools there as he worked on projects.  Now, I admit I am not from and do not live in Southie, but I’m not exactly a tourist either.

In any case, they’d just opened so there weren’t many customers.  The Boy and I talked to Peggy about our writing and music and she was genuinely interested in having us stop by for book readings and to perform The Boy’s amazing songs.  Anyway, this isn’t about him or us, really, is it.

What you need to know is that in the narrow artificially-created alley behind Murphy’s Law was this graffiti covered piece of scrap metal.  Regardless how you feel about the IRA, this seemed like the exact place you would find something like this.  I felt more like a journalist than a photographer or even genre-specific writer that I am in that moment.

And now I’m sharing part of that moment with you.

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