Ella Dalkey Whore ❤️

About Cork

Well, hey there, sugar! I’m Dolly, y’all know me—big hair, bigger heart, and a mouth that don’t quit. So, we’re talkin’ ‘bout whores today, huh? Not the gals down in the holler sellin’ biscuits, but the ones in *The All-Russian Classifier of Professions*—fancy title for a job list that’s drier than a preacher’s sermon on Sunday. Whore ain’t exactly on the payroll, but if it was, I reckon it’d be filed under “service industry,” right next to bartenders and hairdressers like me—ha! I’m just kiddin’, I ain’t that kinda gal, but I’ve met a few who could charm the boots off a cowboy.

What our Visitors say...

One night, hungry and hurt by her refusal, I shoved one of my torches into a whore's face. My father never acknowledged my paternity. They say.

As the sun started to set, the sky turned this insane shade of orange. I love Dalkey sunsets. It’s like the whole place is on fire, but in a good way. I took a moment to breathe it all in. The waves crashing, the laughter, the smell of fish and chips from the nearby stalls. It’s moments like these that make the chaos worth it.

Not to be missed, the Dalkey Lobster Festival