“‘The Wire’ you’re talking about, maybe?” Fanning knew he had to be careful.

“Possibly, sure. Why not. Let’s say it’s a starting point, but better.”

“Take the bad guys’ side then? The O’Sopranos, maybe?”

He almost forgot to acknowledge Breen’s quip.

“It could go that way,” he said. “I mean it could be done. But the real star of the story? The real star is Dublin. Local. Vernacular. Right in your face.”

Immediately, Fanning wished he hadn’t uttered those words.

“I’m not saying it right, Colm — but you know what I mean. The Dublin we know, or at least we think we know. But in fact we don’t?”

Breen’s brow creased.

“But Dublin’s a destination now,” Fanning said. “We’re on the map, right? Boomtown, the Celtic Tiger, all that. I know it’s jaded by now — for us, like. But the U.S. viewers? No, they’re behind, obviously.”

“No more colleens and shamrock, thank you very much. The Quiet Man done gone.”

“Listen. Have you ever stopped on any street here and just listened?”

“Listened?”

“I mean the languages. Arabic, I heard the other day. Polish, lots obviously — but I mean, it’s kind of like we missed out on some stage. Like we went straight from the past, and we woke up in the future, and found the place is full of foreign — immigrants, I mean. New faces, is what I mean, I suppose.”

“Well you can certainly hear them when you buy a cup of coffee, or a pint.”

“Absolutely,” said Fanning. “You’re right there.” He wondered when Colm Breen had last walked into an ordinary pub and bought an ordinary pint to drink with ordinary people. Decades.

“Let me just fire a few images your way,” he said to Breen. “Then I’ll be off. You know me, I’ve been around. But this place today — no-one, I mean no-one has this. Ready?”

Breen smiled, and nodded.

“Everyone who can get their hands on one carries a gun.”