Twittering the bat flew here, flew there. Far out over the sands the coming surf crept, grey. Howth hogan outlet settled for slumber tired of long days, of yumyum rhododendrons (he was old) and felt gladly the night breeze lift, ruffle his fell of ferns. He lay but opened a red eye unsleeping, deep and slowly breathing, slumberous spyder ski clothes but awake. And far on Kish bank the anchored lightship twinkled, winked at Mr Bloom.Life those chaps out there must have, stuck vibram fingers shoes in the same spot. Irish Lights board. Penance for their sins. Coastguards too. Rocket and breeches buoy and lifeboat. Day we went out for the pleasure cruise in the Erin’s King, throwing them the sack of old papers. Bears in the zoo. Filthy trip. Drunkards out to shake up their livers. Puking overboard to feed the herrings. Nausea. And the women, fear of God in their faces. Milly, no sign of funk. Her blue scarf loose, laughing. Don’t know what death is at that age. And then their stomachs babyliss professional clean. But being lost they fear.