If you think you can go to Ireland and somehow not hear “Galway Girl” one million times, you are sadly mistaken.
After 13 months of living in Dublin, and spending a good chunk of those weekends out on the piss in Dublin pubs, I realized that despite the plethora of no-doubt-quality pubs in the city centre, my friends and I always seemed to end up at up at the same one: J.W. Sweetman.
Apparently when I’m jet-lagged, disoriented, and hungry, I turn to alcohol. Sleep is for the weak and responsible.