*Sláinte Agus Táinte is open, and there must always be a Reilly behind the bar. She might not have her son's beard, but her speakers are louder and she keeps singing to herself.* He's not in today, what are ya drinking? We have a Porter to die for.

My wee baby boy when he was sooooo little and smiley.

He was so proud when the facial hair finally started coming. So proud! It was bad, but we didn't have the heart to tell him, the dear...

[DIES LAUGHING.]

Welcome to London, Noirín Reilly.

I'm /the best/.

*Nora climbs the stairs with a ham and cheese sandwich and a cup of tea.* Yer decent, Quinn Reilly?

Sé mo laoch mo ghille mear ’Sé mo Shaesar, ghille mear, Ní fhuaras féin aon tsuan ná séan, Ó chuaigh i gcéin mo ghille mear.~~ I miss my Jamesy boy.

What a charming woman!

I'm not listening. I'm NOT listening.

Are they going to stop flirting??

Four Words Read: tl.gd/n_1sqve86