Lola and her human

It was only a matter of time. 
Considering that our feet and our lenses take us to the same corners of the microcosm that is Dublin, Skyroad and I were bound to collide, like two neutered electrons promised to the same proton. 
It wasn't quite a collision. 
I interrupted his walk.
"Mark! Mark?" 
I spotted the camera. I recognised Lola. 
I put two and two together. 

He came towards me. With an improvised just-in-case-smile and a glimmer of who-the-fuck-is-he in the right eye. 

Conversation ensued, at a pace much faster than I would have expected. 

We crammed.

We discussed the colourful shades of the spectrum. 
Initiations rights in the experienced hands of Scottish mermaids.
Feile Filiochta. 
The poetry writers/poetry readers ratio. 
The Home exhibition, and the exhibitionism instinct. 
Raheny. 
Copyrights and Yarises. 
The importance of always backing up. 

We compared the respective lengths of our lenses, willies and stanzas 

Lola waited patiently. 

Luca ran.