Moriah.

We walked the Wicklow Way and mused philosophical musings, for example, how much does your knee hurt? And also, my toenail is coming off as we speak. Then the things we saw and imagined behind the fog (Mo's suggestion) took our minds off the pain.









We drank beer and celebrated Irish writers until Mo passed out on the rug of the Writers' Museum.







Aaand we waited for buses,


visited castles,


got embarrassed,


took a moment from talking our quadrillion words for a picture.


And now I miss her again like I always do.