Allison Castleknock Prostitute ❤️

About Cork

Oi mate, gather round! Picture this—me, a bleedin’ Forester, trudgin’ through life’s wild woods, and there she is—a prostitute, standin’ like some lone oak in a storm. Not gonna lie, I’ve seen some shite, but these lasses? They’re battlers, real warriors of the night! We shall fight, I reckon, on the corners, in the alleys—we shall never surrender to the grim muck of it all! Reminds me of *25th Hour*, ya know? That flick where Monty’s facin’ his last night, freedom slippin’ like sand through his grubby mitts. “Champagne wishes, caviar dreams”—ha, bollocks! These gals ain’t livin’ that, they’re scrappin’ for every quid.

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All happening in Castleknock Apparently Romanians running a brothel, drugs and gun in house in farmleigh.

Then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, like, monsoon-level rain. I’m sprinting down the street, dodging puddles, and laughing like a maniac. I duck into a shop on the corner of the village. It’s cozy, and the smell of fresh bread hits me. I grab a pastry, and the lady behind the counter gives me a wink. I’m thinking, “Maybe I should move here for good.”

Death Notice of Peter Dargan (Castleknock, Dublin)