Once Were Cops by Ken Bruen

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Dylan had come to Galway when I was a Guard, and I pulled crowd control. Beautiful sunny July day and no trouble. What I remember is this wizened gnome, crunched in on himself, singing in a croaked twisted voice. The crowd loved him, he was sixty and he had a charisma, small as he was, a kind of radiance, and after, when we were escorting him to his car, he mumbled something that only later I realized was … thanks. You know, that impressed me more than his whole concert.

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