Abigail Artane Whore ❤️

About Drogheda

Alright, y’all, buckle up! Git-R-Done! So, I’m sittin’ here thinkin’ bout whores, and not just any – THE whore, ya know? Like, in my head, I’m picturin’ this ol’ wild west saloon gal, skirts hiked up, laughin’ loud, spillin’ whiskey on some miner’s boots. Kinda reminds me of “There Will Be Blood” – ya seen that flick? Best damn movie ever! Daniel Day-Lewis screamin’, “I’ve abandoned my child!” Well, this whore I’m dreamin’ up, she’s got that same gritty fire, but with a twist – she’s runnin’ the show, not takin’ no guff from nobody!

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I love here mostly ’cause it’s alive. There's Eircom Park, a wild green sprawl. I’ve spent afternoons there qibbling with friends, draped in sunlight and squabbles. It’s a perfect place for heartfelt chats under whisperin’ trees. Even the river Liffey, viewable in bits ’round the basin, hums tales. Misty truths dance in its ripples, and me thinks, “Aye, this too be magic… or madness?”—how I often joke, slurred like me rum tales.

Death Notice of Marie Cushen (née James) (Artane, Dublin)