A community, united. One that grows. One that nurtures. That’s what I saw when I stepped into Bianca Tainsh’s Terra Culture.

It started with a man, once bulbous, now skeletal, as he slaved over molten silver day in and day out, creating drachmae for his ruthless, handsome Master.

‘Have you ever seen a dead body before?’ Dad won’t give me a straight answer, just said that’s how they do funerals in Ireland.

When I was a kid, I went on an excursion to a cemetery. I’m not sure why our school decided to send a group of children to a field of dead strangers.

On the edge of campus, scrawled across the brickwork, is an instruction: ‘Drop out of uni: there is no future’.

An unremarkable office building sits between a supermarket and a pet store, largely ignored by pedestrians on the street...

'Droplets of cold sweat used my spine like a rollercoaster. My hoodie was too loose and my track pants too tight...'