Katherine Castleknock Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Swords

But the stench—goddamn, it’d choke ya. Sweat, cheap perfume, regret—mixes like a bad stew. Made me angry, too—pimps lurkin’, takin’ cuts, actin’ big. Scum. I’d fantasize slittin’ their throats, servin’ ‘em up with a nice amarone. Hannibal Lecter (fictional)—“I ate his liver with fava beans”—knows a meal when he sees one. One time, heard a story—Victorian brothel, London, right? Had a secret room for “special tastes.” Whips, chains, even a fuckin’ goat once! Goat! Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but who cares—fits the vibe.

You’re Temporarily Blocked

Castleknock Park is gorgeous, by the way. Trees everywhere, kids playing, and the smell of fresh grass. I’m feeling all zen until I trip over a dog. Like, seriously? Who lets their dog run wild? I’m about to lose it, but the owner just laughs. I can’t help but chuckle too.

Death Notice of Declan CAHILL (Castleknock, Dublin)